Only One
by Sunburned-Stickperson
Summary: "Don't screw this up," had been Malik's only advice. In a world where the Knights of the Earth are at war with sorcerers, both sides are trying to end the world exactly how they want to.
1. Chapter 1

**Seriously, dudes, I fail at dividing chapters. XD I'm sorry.  
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><p>"Don't screw this up," Malik had said.<p>

Altair grunted when he was forced to his knees in front of the king.

"Don't screw this up. You'll have one shot," he had iterated.

"Well, well, well, if we don't have the head knight of the Knights of the Earth," the king said as he walked out, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Don't screw this up."

He snarled at the king, infuriated more by Malik's lack of explanation, and then he saw him.

"Don't screw this up. You'll have one shot."

The young man was standing in the corner, dressed in a priest's robes, watching him curiously, but cautiously. He had a scar across his lips, and brown eyes hardened by hate. His hair was cropped short, and the elaborate embroidery in the robes signified just who he was. On his back was an intricately carved staff. It had three rungs and a small sphere in the headpiece.

His eyes grew wide. The king laughed, his fat jiggling underneath the colorful clothes. The priest stepped forward.

"So you know our prized fighter?" the king jeered. "Look, Desmond, this is the power of magic over the Knights. These vermin crawl through our lands and captivate our people with their unspoken promises of freedom."

Desmond was studying him quietly, intensely.

"Don't screw this up."

He frowned and relaxed in the guards' hold. He needed a way to get to him and win him over.

"This man killed hundreds of ours?"

"The Knights of the Earth attack from a distance, cloaked with invisibility in the natural surroundings."

Desmond frowned and drew his staff in a large arc. The dust on the floor rose into a small whirlwind, solidifying into an Inland Taipan. Altair stiffened at the sight as it coiled there, staring at him. Slowly, it moved up his leg and under his tunic—his armor had been removed. He could feel the scales moving against his skin: they were cold against his warm skin. His muscles rippled as it continued up and around his neck. He could feel its tongue flick across his skin, and he had to bite his cheek to keep still. He could see the king laughing at him. After a few minutes, the snake disappeared in a poof of dirt that settled against his skin.

"Keep him," Desmond said. "He's good to us."

The king balked. "What? We should kill him! Show the Knights who is boss!"

"No, let me have him."

"Why?"

"So I can have a moving focus target."

The king raised an eyebrow, but he agreed. "Okay, make him a servant to the boy. Keep him chained in the summoner's room."

He disappeared. Altair was forced to his feet and marched into a room after a labyrinth of halls. He was bound and shackled, and his lip twitched at the blood he found caked on the small area. It was empty, save for him. The room was lavish enough, a large bed with silken sheets. There were pillows and cushions, two chairs and a pet bed. There were all kinds of toys and books, material and various spell casting things. He glanced over the worn red carpeting and the stonewalls of the castle.

When he leaned back and looked around again, he was surprised to see Desmond sitting on the bed, reading from an old leather tome. They said nothing, and Altair looked at the pillows around him. The chains were loose enough he could reach a small table a little ways off, and the pillows were arranged for his bed. A medical kit and notebook rested by the pillows. For the large part of the day, he sat in the room, bored almost to tears, restrained to the wall. He had tried the medicinal kit for something to pick the chains with, but all there was, was antidotes. He tried testing the chains: they weren't going to budge.

Desmond, for the large part, ignored him and merely smiled at him once when he was lying on the bed studying a large tome. As Altair watched him, he began to realize the boy had problems with concentrating. He would read straight from the book for a while, then sigh and squirm or pace. It went like this for most of the day, and when his dinner was brought, he ate alone at the small table a little ways from the pillows. He had briefly considered using it to escape, but there must have been some sort of enchantment on it.

The next morning, he was roughly jerked from his sleep and drug outside to a large, open field. Desmond was standing there, a balding man with a serious persona next to him. They were talking in whispers, and Altair stood there. Eventually, they split apart, and he watched as the man stepped behind him. The guards let go.

"Run," one said.

He stood patiently for a bit, watching as Desmond waited for him to, indeed, run. He looked around the castle for a way out.

"Don't screw this up. You'll have one shot."

He found his exit way and looked at Desmond again, who had the staff in his hands and his eyes closed. The guards were still running, and the man behind him had backed off to the wall of the castle. Without a second thought, he sprinted to the wall and free ran up the sides—easiest escape ever. He leapt from the top of the wall and started running as soon as he hit the ground. He had made it several kilometers before he glanced over his shoulder.

As soon as he did, he was attacked from the back, restrained by large, black somethings. It wrapped around his torso and locked his arms against his body. He struggled valiantly to get free, watching helplessly as he was drug back over the castle wall. His eyes grew wide when he saw what was waiting. He would've pissed his pants if he had taken anything to drink in the past twelve hours.

"What sorcery is this?"

A large gate, decorated with shriveled horned heads, was looming in the middle of the field. The large doors made of, what looked like, dried skin were open partly, and through the rolling billows of smoke, he could see something thrashing at the opening, eager to get out. Blood oozed from every joint on the gate, and its odor filled his nose. He thrashed violently, dry heaving at the same time, as he tried to get from the black thing coiled around him. The doors opened slightly more, and he could see a multi-headed dragon raging against the gate behind it.

Desmond was branding the staff in a violent dance, weaving and spinning and twirling. Altair caught a glimpse of his eyes, once, and they were a bright, demon-possessed yellow. His robes were fluttering and billowing as foreign words poured from his lips in a hissing chant. At certain words, the dragon thrashed again, and the gates creaked open more. The black things held him fast as if they were waiting to sacrifice him to the beast beyond.

Then, as suddenly as it all began, the gates disappeared and the black things were gone. Desmond was on his hands and knees. His skin was translucent, and he gasped for breath between heaving up stomach acid and blood. Altair was frozen to his spot as healers and medicine men came rushing him out, carting Desmond away, and guards had Altair chained in no time.

He was lead in a daze back to the summoner's chambers, and he sat there, quietly, until the doctors had finished with Desmond and walked out. He stared at the bed, afraid of what he had just seen, until he heard a weak voice crack from the bed.

"You've just seen the Gates of Hell—and lived."

The boy on the bed started coughing again, and he watched as the doctors came rushing back in immediately. They didn't speak the same language—the healers from the West were far superior to anything the East had. After Desmond had stopped, Altair stared at the bed until sun-up, and most of the next day and the next day, until he had passed out from lack of sleep.

His dreams were tormented by the vision he had seen, and when he woke, his heart was racing and his limbs wouldn't cooperate, but Desmond was sitting up in the bed. Malik had tried to warn him.

"Don't screw this up."

But if he wasn't suppose to screw up, he mused as he stared at the magicked boy in the bed, why had Malik given him to the sorcerers? They had been caught sneaking into the castle, and he and the two brothers (Kadar had been with them: it was his graduation mission) had been cornered. Malik whispered those words right before he gave him over to the sorcerers and vanished with his brother.

"The sorcerers there are powerful," Al Mualim had said. "And they have stolen from us our child—the prophet of the end of days. There is no doubt they will cast ill fate upon the lands if they force him to develop his powers to his full potential. They have corrupted him by now with their beliefs: you must kill him."

"Don't screw this up. You'll have one shot."

Perhaps there was a different way. Altair, despite the fear knotting in his belly, rose and looked at Desmond. The summoner, quite frankly, looked like shit, but his brown eyes were looking at him.

"The Gates of Hell?"

Desmond nodded. His breathing was still labored and shallow, and when Altair realized he was too weak to speak, he sat back down, the chains clanking. The week passed quickly, and by the end of it, the summoner was able to walk and speak again. He watched as the boy hobbled over slowly, dressed in warm furs, and sat at the table he was served his meals on. The boy had been left on his own for the past couple of days outside of doctor's visits.

"Hi," his voice was hoarse and raspy.

Altair nodded, shifting away from the boy.

"Al-tear, right?" he croaked.

Altair frowned. "Altair."

Desmond nodded. "You are going to die."

Altair scowled—"Don't screw this up." Perhaps he needed to change tactics to get to Desmond so that he could kill him. Perhaps he should try to befriend the boy.

"Why?"

"Because I need a sacrifice to unlock them," his voice gave out briefly.

Altair raised an eyebrow. Desmond held up two fingers.

"Gates of Hell, Gates of Heaven."

"Why are you summoning the Gates of Hell?"

"Pinnacle of talent to Vidic, teacher."

"But surely Heaven is a good place."

Desmond smiled weakly. Altair hoped he could manage to do this mission. "Hell is what they want."

"Why do you listen to them?"

"Heaven is harder. I owe them."

Altair raised an eyebrow, sitting on several of his bed pillows, the chains clanking noisily.

"The power is greater if Heaven, but Hell is easier, so I don't complain."

"The beast?" Altair could help but get frustrated as Desmond's voice grew thinner and thinner.

"It's a dragon with many heads, and once I summon it, I will be able to summon the beast of the sea."

"You will destroy the earth."

"I control what I summon."

"And if you summon the Gates of Heaven?"

"I will have the powers of the gods."

Altair stared at the boy, who was watching him closely. He hated talking, but the more he sat here, the more he realized he have to talk, touch, and generally be social with the boy. After a few minutes of silence, one of the servants came in with food. Desmond got back up slowly, only to sit back down when it was too much work, and it reminded Altair of an old man. He wondered just what that summoning was doing to him. Desmond ate in silence, slowly, his hands trembling, and Altair couldn't help but wonder.

"You are lonely. Are you happy here?"

Desmond looked up, the soup in his spoon was dripping as his hands trembled.

"No," he croaked. "But better than my parents, who were Knights."

Altair nodded. That explained his hatred.

"I want to travel."

"I have seen many things on my travels."

Desmond perked up slightly, looking cautious.

"I can tell you many of them the longer I live."

Desmond shook his head. "I can't try to open the gates again until the end of next week."

Altair looked at him. "Would you show me the Gates of Heaven, instead?"

He scowled. "Why?"

Altair shrugged. "I've had nightmares about Hell for the past week."

Desmond was silent, trying valiantly to eat. Eventually, Altair took the spoon from him and fed him, despite the scowl on his face. He didn't protest though, and the Knight took it as a good sign. As the next week passed, Desmond sat with him and listened to his stories, and Altair had never hated talking so much. He could see the boy slowly getting to trust him, but as he told his tales to the young man, one question nagged at his mind.

"Why don't you just summon a beast and run from this place if you don't like it?"

They were eating lunch on the day he was supposed to try again. Altair's food hadn't been touched. Desmond frowned and looked away.

"I'm not so sure I could make it on my own with both the Knights of the Earth and the sorcerers after me. I'm too well-known."

Altair frowned: it was time for his biggest gamble. "If you take me with you, I could get you everywhere."

"I don't trust you. You'll kill me in my sleep."

"But surely that brief taste of freedom will be worth it, and if you summon something to protect you, I won't touch you."

He frowned and polished off his lunch. "You gonna eat that?"

He pushed his plate to the boy, who ate it quickly. After he was done, he rose and picked up his staff from its spot. Three guards came in and began to carry him out.

"And, just for clarification, Altair," Desmond began.

Altair looked over his shoulder when the guards stopped. Desmond was staring at him.

"I don't summon the Gates of Heaven because if I fail, I fall into a catatonic state for weeks."

They continued their staring match for a bit.

"And I don't just summon the power of the gods, I summon the gods themselves."

"The gods do not exist."

Desmond walked passed them and into the halls. "So say the Knights of the Earth. I have seen the Great Mother Naer herself."

He vanished before his eyes.

It wasn't until he was in the same grassy field as before that he saw Desmond again. He was talking to another man in a lab coat with a beard. Desmond's eyes flickered to Altair, and Altair thought that he was contemplating something. He didn't break the eye contact the entire time, watching him levelly. Finally, Desmond faced him, and the guards split as the man in the lab coat backed off. The boy's eyes flickered to the wall, and his eyebrow twitched, and Altair gave the faintest nod.

As soon as Desmond started the spell, Altair was off like a shot. He scrabbled up the wall, leaping from rock to rock and quickly approaching the top. When his feet landed on the top, he took a running leap from wall, feeling a sickening feel in his stomach from the first leap he made two weeks ago. Before he could begin the downward arc, he felt himself snatched from the air.

A roaring screech was heard before he felt himself thrown in the air and land on soft bed of white feathers. He could feel the wind tugging at his clothes as another deafening boom of a bird's cry rang out through the air. He looked to see Desmond standing on the head of the bird, occasionally moving his hands or his staff, and the bird would change course with it.

Slowly, he stood, stumbling in the whipping wind. He made his way to the head, shielding his eyes so they wouldn't dry out, and his legs were blown from under him on the neck of the beast.

"Where are we going?"

The voice sounded as clear as day.

"To the east!"

The bird screeched as if it could hear him, and with a swish of Desmond's hand, the bird turned to the east and flew straight. All Altair could do was hold on and hope he didn't fall off. He managed to see Desmond's eyes once before his dried out: they were a brilliant gold, shining like the sun as the white bird flew.

That night, they had stopped flight in the northern end of the untamed wilderness that connected to the desert. Altair had gotten off the bird as soon as possible, wanting to claim his legs again. He had loved the feeling of flight as he clung to the bird's back. Even if he couldn't stand or open his eyes, feeling the wind pulling at his clothes and the adrenaline rush at knowing he could fall off was bliss. The smell of the bird was like home, and he had never felt better. He watched Desmond pet the bird's neck before it vanished, leaving a smudge of dirt in its wake.

"We'll sleep here and walk to our hideout," Altair said when Desmond looked at him.

"Why?" Desmond frowned.

"Because that bird—"

"Roc."

"Roc has been seen. We will have to avoid being caught, so no more summoning. Or flying."

Desmond nodded and padded over, staying just out of arms reach as he pulled a sword and sheath from his robes. He offered it out with both hands.

"I'm useless with a blade, and I know that you can wield one."

Altair nodded once and accepted the blade. He was pleased to note it was a finely crafted blade.

"I took it from the king."

He smirked—no wonder it looked so perfectly crafted. He glanced around at the woodlands surveying the area carefully. It would do for the night. Desmond was looking around curiously. Altair couldn't help but feel good that the boy wasn't always looking at him with cold, hating cautiousness.

"So… What do we do now?"

"A fire, and food—shelter, too."

"How?"

He smirked: he was going to love showing this boy what life outside the castle walls was like. However, he was thoroughly shocked to find Desmond enjoying every second of it, from striking the flint to setting up a lean-to. It was barely concealed enthusiasm, and his eyes were the only thing that gave him away, but it was there, burning brightly as he helped Altair set camp. He seemed to forget who he was travelling with, and several times, Altair almost unsheathed his blade and finished the job right there. Stab him in the neck, and the job would be done. He could've gotten him while the boy was bent over, striking the flint eagerly. He found it amusing when a phoenix flew and perched by him, and he shooed it away when it tried to light the fire for him.

It looked horribly confused, but Desmond didn't give up until he had the fire going by himself, and boy, did that kid look proud of himself. Altair could've struck him down when he was lashing the lean-to together, or when he was vomiting at the sight of Altair skinning a wild boar for food. It was then he learned Desmond had never eaten meat.

"I can't stomach it. Not as a summoner."

"Not as the summoner," Altair said as he staked the creature and began to roast it.

Desmond was sitting on the opposite side of the fire. A pack of silver and black coated wolves paced around him, whining and keening for the meat. Desmond's eyes were glowing a faint shade of gold from the magic. "Surely there's more than one summoner in these lands."

"No, have you not heard the prophecy surrounding your birth? There is only one summoner in the lands."

Desmond shook his head. "You're fucking kidding me. There's no way I have my own prophecy."

"There is a reason you aren't allowed outside the castle walls, Desmond. You are the prophet of the end of days. Whichever set of gates you summon will lead the world in its destruction and recreation."

"No fancy rhyme?"

"Lost in translation."

Desmond laughed, leaning back on his hands and stretching his legs out. One of the wolves rested its head in his lap, and he started scratching it. Altair found himself watching the boy, and he winced when he thought about how he'd have to kill him eventually.

"So then, I decide the end of the world?"

Altair nodded.

"Hm… I feel powerful." He laughed again. "What if I choose not to summon either gate?"

Altair shrugged and swatted at a wolf that strayed too close. It growled but walked away. After the meat was roasted, and Altair and Desmond had each taken some, he gave the rest to the pack, who ripped into it. He smirked as Desmond struggled to bite it.

"Never had meat before."

"No! It'd be like eating your pet! Or your best friend!"

Altair rolled his eyes. "I would not mind eating him sometimes."

Desmond scoffed. "So, because I'm the summoner, I have both the sorcerers and the Knights of the Earth after me?"

"Yes… However, the Knights of the Earth have orders to kill you on sight for affiliating with the sorcerers."

Desmond raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I have orders to kill you."

The wolves growled, their hackles rising and teeth bared. He ignored them and watched as Desmond picked at the meat, still hesitant to try it. He stretched languidly and finished his meal. The wolves were watching his every move closely.

"Do you want me to feed it to you?"

Desmond still had yet to bite into the meat, but in the untamed wilderness of the central lands, it was probably the only thing he'd have. He was picking at it, trying to hide the look of disgust and sickness.

"Just knowing that it's coming causes me to clam up."

He looked at the red sash, dirty and wrinkly, tied around his waist. "I could blind fold you, and then you wouldn't know when the meat would come. Your wolves are quicker than I after being chained up for several weeks."

Desmond looked mistrusting but seemed to contemplate the offer. He eyed Altair cautiously before looking back at the meat. "Fine."

He pulled the sash from his waist and walked over slowly, trying not to arouse any more mistrust in Desmond than he already had—and trying to keep the wolves from eating him, and they looked hungry. Gently, he tied it loosely around the boy's eyes so he could rip it off at any moment. Desmond was rigged and stiff, but still. Altair squatted in front of him and took the meat in his hand, cupping his cheek with one hand pushing his thumb passed his lips to pry open his teeth.

The summoner resisted slightly with a small sound of protest. He wedged his thumb passed his teeth and slipped his forefinger in, pushing his teeth apart.

"Why don't you just have one of your creatures get you some vegetables if you're so against this?"

Desmond grunted. "I tried," he said around his fingers, "but they aren't coming."

"I'm not surprised. Most of the plants here don't give berries or roots that are edible. There's a reason this land remains untamed."

"Really?"

Altair nodded, grunting as he forced Desmond's jaws apart. "My ancestors have lived in these lands many years. They have never been cultivated, and the Indians that live here are fierce."

"Indians?" Desmond yelped, and Altair forced a piece of meat into his mouth, slamming his jaw shut as he thrashed against the Knight's hold.

Altair grunted as he tried to keep Desmond's mouth shut. Finally, he fell still, and Altair rubbed his knuckles against the summoner's throat, trying to coax him into swallowing. Occasionally, as he chewed, he would thrash against it, and Altair almost—almost—felt bad. He still didn't know why he was taking care of the man, but he couldn't bring himself to kill him quite yet. He was eager to learn and listened when Altair talked. He found it easy to talk to the boy—and he had to admit that one reason he hated talking was because of Malik. The man was always interrupting with biting criticism or sarcasm. And Kadar had the same vicious tongue that his brother had. Desmond was interested in learning and hearing him talk. When he finally felt Desmond swallow, he let go, and the boy gagged.

"Bad?"

The summoner was quiet, and the wolves were at attention, watching him closely. He licked his lips once and swallowed again. "Not… too bad… But I'm still not sure I can eat a lot of it."

Altair nodded once and sat down. He watched Desmond eat a little more over the course of the night, and when they were finally settled down for the night, he was surprised to have the summoner offer his robe to the Knight for a pillow. He declined and lay down. His mind wandered back to the hideout for the first time in many nights, and he wondered if Al Mualim would be mad if he brought Desmond with him.

He thought about killing the boy, and for the first time in his life, he realized he was going to have trouble killing a sorcerer. He was so innocent, and he didn't even know what would have happened if he had opened the Gates of Hell. He wanted to see the world; he wanted to live; and he wanted to be a normal human. He rolled on his back as the thoughts drifted in and out, and he thought about how he had never even given a moment to consider how lucky he was for getting to travel all over the world, but the attention Desmond gave him back at the castle had begun to claw into his mind. He would sit at a distance, listening intently and prying for details.

He wasn't sure Desmond had noticed, but as the week passed in the castle, he realized the summoner was inching closer. And now, here he was, in the middle of the wilderness with the boy, and he could easily pull his blade out and kill him, rend him limb from limb. The boy trusted him, even if he didn't say it. Altair figured there was still some lingering suspicion, but he had the summoner's trust. He wasn't sure if it was because what he told him made sense, or if he was the only one of the prisoners he had who talked to him, but Desmond was willing to listen and obey.

He turned on his side and closed his eyes, trying to still his thoughts. He thought back to the night he had found out Desmond had run. He remembered the panic of the town and how enraged his parents had been. He had was watching Al Mualim the entire time, back from a mission without something to do. Al Mualim had actually panicked in the ten some years Altair had served.

"Desmond," Altair began, only to find he was fast asleep. He let sleep overtake him as he thought about how he'd have to ask why Desmond ran away.

He woke later that night to find something warm and soft under his head, and something similar on either side of him. He saw Desmond curled against his chest. He felt a smile tug at his lips as he watched the boy's side move with his breathing. The soft head of hair was tickling his skin, and he realized he had his arms wrapped around the boy. The thing under his head stirred, and Altair noticed it was a wolf. He assumed another wolf was at his back.

"Desmond?" he murmured.

The boy stirred but didn't wake, and Altair smirked. It would be so easy to snap his neck right now and complete his mission, and yet, as he lay there with the kid in his arms, he couldn't bring himself to. There was something almost relieving about him and his innocence. He watched the boy sleep and decided he'd kill him in the morning, when it was more fair. There was no honor in killing him now, anyway.

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><p><strong>What is with me and magic? :3 I love my job.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, he woke to the sound of something hitting metal. As he got into a defensive position, he realized it had been him, and that he was all ready on his feet, blade drawn, and an arrow lying off to the side. He glanced around when he felt Desmond jolt awake.

"A-Al—"

"Quiet."

The wolves were up and snarling as Altair gazed steadily at the forest. He heard a snap, and the wolves were after it in a heartbeat.

"Run, Malik!"

Altair turned to Desmond. "Call them off."

"What?"

"Call them off."

Desmond blinked, and Altair watched the gold from his eyes disappear. The sound of the wolves vanished.

"What the…"

"Show yourself!" Altair commanded, holding the blade in front of him.

"Are you so stupid you have forgotten your own companions' voices?"

He watched as two figures emerged from the foliage. Malik and Kadar materialized. Kadar had his bow out, frowning, and Malik was scowling. Altair's lips curled. Desmond was quiet behind him, and he could hear several animals stirring in the woods.

"Altair!" Kadar said, smiling. "It is good to see you. We had assumed you had died."

"You who have so little faith—I do my job and do it well."

"Apparently not," Kadar said, pulling another arrow out of the quiver on his back. "You failed to kill the summoner on sight."

"I do things my way. Remember, you are talking to a superior."

"Not for long," Malik spat. "Al Mualim will be furious you have yet to kill him."

"Fuck," Desmond said, rising, "this is why I never left the castle."

"You would have been wiser to stay there, boy," Malik hissed. "And now this traitor thinks that Al Mualim will welcome him back."

"Al Mualim will listen to reason and power. He is just as human as we are."

"But nowhere near as foolish," Malik said.

Altair scowled. He could hear Desmond draw his staff and felt him move behind him. He adjusted his grip on the sword. He stared them down, the silence crackling between them. Eventually, Kadar put the arrow back and hung his bow across him.

"You're not going to let us kill him. You've gotten attached to him."

"I will take him to Al Mualim. The boy will be a good addition to our Brotherhood."

"You novice!" Malik shouted. "He'll brand you a traitor and kill you and him!"

"There is nothing about this boy that is an enemy to us!" Altair roared.

"There is everything that about this boy that is an enemy to us!" Kadar shouted back.

Altair snarled. "You will not lay a hand on him!"

Malik hissed in return. "We will not help you when he goes to kill you."

Altair rolled his eyes and turned to Desmond. "Come. Let us leave."

"You are asking for trouble, Altair," Kadar said.

"Trouble is what I am good with," he said as he kicked at the coals of the fire, making sure they were out. "Ready?"

Desmond stepped closer to him. "Yeah, which way?"

"Northwest."

Desmond nodded. "Want a horse?"

Altair nodded, and he smirked when he heard Kadar gasp at the two horses that appeared. One was pitch black, and the other pure white. After Desmond climbed onto the black one, he hopped on the white one. He looked at the two brothers.

"Mapping?"

Malik frowned, and he knew he had guessed right. "You aren't going to leave us here."

Altair smirked. "Watch me."

And he spurred his horse into a gallop, covering his eyes as they flew through the untamed forest. Desmond was off behind him, and he couldn't keep the smirk from his face as he listened to Malik's curses. Once the noise had stopped, he slowed.

"Are you sure that was wise?"

He scowled. "They are like Tiapans with their tongues."

Desmond nodded. When he heard a clash of blades, he turned the horse around without thinking and set it into a canter.

"H-hey!"

Altair didn't respond as he heard the sounds of a fight get louder, and he urged the horse faster. Eventually, he kicked it into a gallop, and as he leapt over the same bushes Malik and Kadar had emerged from, he brandished his sword and jumped from the horse. With a grunt of thanks from Kadar, he felt his sword bite into the skin of an earthen-colored native.

"S-stop!" he heard Desmond's voice ring out, and before he knew it, there was the loudest, highest wail he had ever heard.

It chilled him to the bone and curdled his blood. The high-pitched screech rang out again, and he covers his ears, looking to the sky to see a large bird. The dark-skinned people were yelling and screeching in their native tongue, and as the bird landed, they backed off. Altair's eyes grew wide when he saw the most beautiful woman's face on the bird. It screeched again, and he growled. The bird-woman looked at him almost defiantly, and he watched Desmond ride into the center of the clearing, confused. The harpy vanished before his eyes in a dust cloud, and the horses did too. Desmond's eyes were their normal deep brown.

The Indians were wild, talking and gesturing toward the boy. Altair curled his lip and straightened, picking out small phrases. He had passed through the woods enough on his way to missions and helped Malik start mapping the forest. It was a slow process. The Indians were amazed by the summoner, and Desmond looked totally lost. They weren't sure what to think of him. A few mentions something about killing, and a few said "God," but he wasn't entirely sure.

Eventually, as they stood there in silence, one of them stepped forward. Desmond looked at him, glancing at the even darker lines etched into the man's skin, and the clothes that seemed to blend with the forest. The man pointed his sword (crude as it may have been) at Desmond and spoke. He watched the boy's eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"He wants to know who you are, sorcerer," Malik spat.

Malik had been in the forests much longer for mapping. He was one of the Brotherhood's most skilled cartographers.

"Desmond," the summoner murmured after glaring at the cartographer.

The leader repeated the name, and Desmond nodded once. After a few seconds, the man grunted and said something about going.

"He wants us to follow him," Malik said.

Desmond looked at Altair, and Altair nodded, following behind the Indians.

"Where are you going?" Malik hissed.

"You need the Indian camps, right?"

He didn't spare him another glance. Several times, as they walked through the forest, Altair thought he lost the Indians. Their skin and clothing made them blend in perfectly. Perhaps he should learn from them. They walked in silence until they came to a house. Altair was surprised to see it, since it blended in so well, and as he looked around, he realized there were many more houses "planted" in the tree and the foliage, built around the forest, instead of building the forest around them. There was one small clearing where a large fire pit smoldered.

The leader led them into the largest of the built-in tree houses, and he allowed himself to get comfortable among the animal skins when Malik told him the leader said to get comfortable. Desmond seemed uncertain about sitting on the animal skins, but came to settle beside Altair—who had settled across from Malik and Kadar.

"Good job, novice: you got us captured."

Altair sighed and watched as Desmond smiled when a small, furry creature popped out of one of the trees. It looked at Desmond, and the boy smiled. It scampered over and wrapped itself around his arm, and the summoner jerked, laughing as its tiny, clawed feet tickled his arm. It looked like a mouse with an extremely long tail. He watched it hop up to Desmond's ear, and the boy laughed when it tickled his ear.

A creature crawled from the roots of the tree and waddled over. It looked like a toadstool with roots as arms and legs. Several more appeared and came over, gathering and sitting in between his sprawled out legs. The summoner was enjoying the attention as they crawled all over him. Another little mouse came leaping over with several babies, and a raven flew in from the doorway. The toadstool people were chattering gaily, even though he couldn't understand them, and the raven was squawking, and the mice were chittering. Altair watched with fascination as Desmond seemed perfectly content with them. He let the toadstool people vine their way all over him and the mice nestled in his robes.

"I like the Indians!" Desmond said, smiling at Altair, who raised an eyebrow. "All these animals like them, too!"

"What are those?" he said, gesturing to the toadstool people.

"Mushroom folk!" he laughed as one crawled under his shirt. "They're toadstools! All living things have spirits!"

Altair's widen as Desmond's words registered. Not only could the boy create creatures, but also, he could summon the spirits of the plants. He had an army at his fingertips. When he glanced at Malik and Kadar, Kadar was wide-eyed at the scene, and Malik was watching cautiously.

Eventually, one of the mushroom people waddled over to Altair and set its vine-arms on his leg. He looked down at it, staring into its beady black eyes partly hidden underneath its mushroom-capped head. It bumbled on top of his leg and started crawling. His breath hitched: the damn thing tickled, even through his clothes.

"Let it crawl on your head!"

He looked back at Desmond, who had mice peeking out of the opening of his shirt and toadstools on his head and legs. The raven was on his shoulder, and a snake had slithered around his arm. Desmond looked completely at home. Altair let the toadstool onto his hand, and it settled in his palm, looking content.

Kadar crawled over cautiously and leaned in to look at the oddball creatures. Altair snickered when one touched Kadar's ear, and the young man jumped back, the toadstool hanging on. It vined its way to the top of his head and sat. Kadar laughed gaily and reached up to touch it.

"Kadar!"

They looked at his brother, who was scowling. "Yes, brother?"

"Why are you fooling around with them? We should be thinking of a way to escape."

"We can defend ourselves: they never took our weapons. Relax! These toadstools are adorable!"

Malik scowled, but slowly came over and nestled beside his brother. Altair had two more toadstools, one sitting on his shoulder and another on his leg. Altair looked to the entrance to see several children and women peeking into the hut, astonished. He smirked and looked at Desmond, who beamed back at the Knight. His smirk softened to a smiled as he watched the boy mimic the noises the mice and other animals made. More mushrooms came waddling in, bringing with them more curious Indians, until it was a mushroom and mice party inside the room.

As night fell, the man from earlier came back in and summoned them out after recovering from the sight of the four men doofing around with toadstools, mice, and several other creatures. After untangling themselves from the roots, they filed out to see a large fire burning and all of the Indians watching them. Altair's lip curled, and his hand rested on the hilt of his blade as Desmond stepped closer behind him.

"Step down. They want to honor the summoner," he said the last word with so much venom, Altair wondered if Desmond was poisoned now.

Altair lowered his hand as an Indian woman came over and took Desmond's hand. The summoner's eyes were wide, and he looked back at the Knight. Altair shooed him off, and soon enough, Desmond and Kadar were dancing and laughing with the Indians. Altair had settled at the back of the crowd, happy to not talk for once. He watched the boy's grace as he twirled in time to the drums and flutes—it was the same grace he performed his summonings with. He lost himself in watching the boy talk and dance for several hours. Malik sat beside him, quiet, and Altair leaned back on his elbows, his eyes glued to the summoner.

"You're not going to kill him, nor let anyone, will you?"

"I will have to. It is the mission."

"I can read your heart. You are not hard to read, having grown up with you. You won't kill him."

Altair frowned and pulled his eyes away long enough to meet Malik's gaze. It was then he realized that it was all ready after midnight.

"Al Mualim won't take easy to that."

"I don't care," Altair said, looking back to Desmond, "I'm his best knight. He'll suffer serious damage losing me."

They paused when one of the women brought them food, eating in silence. He concentrated on the meat in front of him, wondering briefly if Desmond would eat it. By the time he finished, he looked back up to see Desmond on his stomach, one older Indian woman at each arm, and two at his back. His eyes grew wide as he realized the summoner was letting them scratch his skin open and rub charcoal dust deep into them. He got up and walked over, sitting beside his shirt and robes. Kadar was crouched at his head.

"They're tattooing him. I don't see how he hasn't screamed yet."

Desmond was biting down on a stick as the four older women etched the lines into his arms, hands, and back. He had a fierce determination in his eyes.

"Why is he letting them?"

"He told me that he thought their tattoos were cool, so I told the Indians, and they offered, and he accepted, and… well… here he is."

"You're an idiot," Altair said, and Desmond scowled at him around the stick in his mouth.

Altair chuckled, a smirk crawling across his lips. He had to commend the boy for having the guts to let them do that, and he wondered, like Kadar, how on earth he wasn't crying out in pain around the stick. The fire in his eyes was incredible as if to say, "I'm going to do this." He watched as the lines appeared, curling up and around his skin. The designs appeared slowly, and several times, Altair stopped himself from laughing when the boy tensed or jerked minutely, only to be reprimanded by the elder women.

It was well into the next day before they were finished, having changed out the women twice. The Indians were gathered around, watching curiously at the strange light-skinned man getting their tattoos all over him. Desmond's stomach grumbled loudly, but when they offered to stop, he shook his head and told Kadar to tell them to keep going. Malik had all ready retired, waken, and coerced several Indians into helping him map the forest. Finally, as the sun was setting, they backed off. Desmond grunted as he spat the stick out.

"Sore?" Altair asked.

Desmond glared at him, slowly flexing his arms and wincing. The Indians whispered among themselves, and Altair could pick up certain phrases about him not crying.

"I think it's gonna look cool once they heal," Desmond said, as his stomach growled.

Kadar laughed. "It looks great now, even though your skin's red and puffy!"

He slowly curled his arms in and grunted as the skin stretched. Altair almost felt sorry for him as the Indians led them back to the house. Kadar was walking with Altair. He sat down stiffly, and the healer came in with a young boy who was chattering animatedly holding his robes. Kadar laughed.

"He wants to know if you're staying with them forever now."

"Tell him we may come back if we have to run from the Brotherhood," Altair said, watching as a young woman came in with some meat and stringy roots to eat.

Kadar looked upset but translated. Altair watched as Desmond ate without a complaint, but politely declined the meat. When the vegetables were gone, Desmond blanched.

"This forest really doesn't grow anything good, does it?"

Altair shook his head. The old woman was spreading a salve over his tattoos, and he was surprised to see the contrast in the color of their skin. He had though he was dark, but the Indians were a deep, earthen color. The black ink almost blended in with her skin. Desmond hissed occasionally as she put the greenish salve over his tattoos.

"Kadar," Altair said, "tell the healer that we can't stay long. We'll need to keep moving."

Kadar nodded, and he backed off a step at the serious lecture the newest Knight received. Desmond was all ready out cold on the bed of skins. Kadar turned to him afterward as the healer rushed out.

"She said that he'll have to be extremely careful, and she'll give us more of the salve. She also said that she'll give us charms to ward off the 'evil magic users' and the knights who ravage war on the earth."

He smirked. "Well, at least Desmond won them over for us."

"He'll have to come back again. They really like him. They say he's good for the forest."

"He is the summoner."

"True." Kadar sighed. "I suppose we should get some rest. We'll be setting out early tomorrow, right?"

"After Desmond wakes. I can imagine that's painful."

"Oh man, just watching made my back hurt. He didn't get a lot of culture at the castle, did he?"

"No, the boy made me talk the entire time about my travels and missions."

Kadar laughed. "Why didn't he run away sooner?"

"He didn't think he could defend himself."

"Why did he run away in the first place?"

"I wanted to ask him today, but my plans went awry."

Kadar looked smug. "Not used to that?"

"Quite the opposite."

Kadar laughed. "You know, as I watched Desmond get those tattoos, I thought about what you said."

Altair raised an eyebrow.

"And, despite what Malik says, I'll help you convince Al Mualim to keep him alive. He doesn't really know much, does he?"

Altair shook his head. "He hadn't been outside the walls since he was kidnapped, and he hadn't been outside the town before his kidnapping."

"How do you know that?"

"I was standing by Al Mualim the entire time he panicked after he found out Desmond vanished."

"Really?"

"What I don't understand is that he seemed to like the sorcerers, despite calloused treatment. He wasn't happy because he couldn't travel, but, I bet given time, he could've convinced them otherwise. He's vital to both sides."

Kadar was silent, watching him sleep. They watched as the toadstools danced over and settled against him, forming an outline around him as they settled down for the night, their roots digging through the skins to reach the dirt.

"They never left."

"Nope," Kadar said. "I'm glad he trusts you. I'd hate to be on the receiving end of his wrath when he ends the world. He's nothing like I expected."

Altair knelt by him, just on the outside of the mushroom ring, and he ran a hand through Desmond's hair. The boy made an odd sort of noise and nuzzled against his hand.

"I think he likes you."

"Of course he does. I broke him out of the castle."

"No, no, I mean, not like you as in you saved him, I think he like likes you."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"He told me so."

"How can a boy like him know love?" Altair looked at Kadar, scowling, as he continued to brush though the summoner's hair.

"He told me that last night, while you were teaching him everything, he noticed you were expecting him to give up."

"He noticed."

"Yup, and when I tried to talk him out of it, he said he was going to prove to you that he was tougher than you thought."

Altair chuckled. "He proved that to me last night. He didn't even want it?"

"He did want the tattoo: he thought they were awesome, but he said that they would also show you he could do it. He wants you to like him."

"Just because he wanted to prove he was tough—"

"Altair, he specifically said he wanted to prove to you that he was tough."

"Why does he trust me at all?"

"Why? Because you told him all those stories, gave him attention that no one else has, and have agreed to take him all over. Altair, you're like his savior."

"And he told you all this?"

"No, he doesn't trust me as much yet, but only an invalid would fail to see that."

Altair smirked. "You wound me."

"Man up," Kadar said as he stretched out on a separate mat. "You useless novice."

Altair shook his head as he continued to run his fingers through his hair. He didn't know how in less than three weeks this boy had become so important to him—especially when most of it was spent being his captive and having nightmares about the Gates. He frowned as he gently touched Desmond's cheek, and the boy made another content noise.

He watched when Malik came back in, mapping supplies in his arms. The man bowed to the Indians. Malik settled beside his brother as Altair continued to touch Desmond's face and play with his hair. The cartographer watched him for several minutes before lying down.

"Don't screw this up, Altair. You'll have one shot."

Altair looked at Malik as the man curled up beside his brother. He briefly met his gaze, and he nodded.

"Thank you, Malik."

The man grunted and closed his eyes, muttering a simple, "Novice." Altair shook his head and settled down in an empty pallet.

The next morning, he woke beside Desmond, the boy sprawled across his chest and the mushrooms nestled against them. The boy whimpered when Altair shifted, and he stopped moving. He lightly ran a hand through Desmond's hair.

"Isn't that sickeningly adorable, Malik?" he heard Kadar say, and he turned his head to the side, only to be met with a view full of toadstools.

He had to admit it was a little creepy to find them surrounding him. He saw Kadar's head shift through a small window in the mushrooms.

"I don't know, Kadar. I try not to look at them."

"Oh, come on, you'll say it's cute, too, if you just look."

"No, I don't think I will."

"I think you will."

"I think I won't."

"I think you will."

He heard them start to wrestle, hearing the grunts and thumps from their match. He briefly wondered if Desmond had ever had someone to wrestle with. He looked down at the head full of hair, seeing the puffy red skin stretched out over his arms and back.

"There, look! Aren't they cute?"

Malik growled. "Fine. Will you let me up?"

"Come on—say it like you mean it!"

"Oh, Kadar, they are the cutest thing I've ever seen in all my life! I've never seen anything better than those two cuddling like the hollow-skulled idiots they are!"

Kadar laughed. "I love you, brother."

"I love you, too. Now get off, you fat ass."

"Shut up," Altair growled when Desmond stirred. "Let the boy sleep."

They were silent, at least, and it was several more hours before the boy woke up with a grunt. Altair held still as Desmond slowly got up and stretched, wincing as the tattoos burned.

* * *

><p><strong>Should I continue this? Or throw it to the wolves? If I should continue, would you prefer to see the Gates of Heaven or the Gates of Hell?<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Damn... this thing just fucking exploded.**

* * *

><p>"Ow…"<p>

"No duh, idiot."

Desmond managed a half glare at Malik. At the summoner's feet, the mushroom people were stirring.

"We leave. Are you ready?"

Desmond blinked at Altair. "I guess. We really have to?"

"Yes, it's too dangerous to stay here for long."

Desmond looked slightly disappointed before the healer came hobbling in, a jar of the salve in her hands. He knelt cautiously, letting her rub the salve over the scratched in patterns. He grit his teeth, and Altair looked at Malik and Kadar, who were waiting. The mushroom people had gathered around his knees.

"No, I have to leave. You can't come with me."

He watched as Desmond tried to shoo them off, and they'd reach up and wrap around his fingers. He'd shake them off. Repeat. When the woman was done, she draped a soft animal hide around his shoulders and started speaking.

"The cloth with keep your arms and back protected. The salve will help it heal. And she also said to take the mushrooms with you: they're toxic."

Desmond frowned. "I can't walk into cities with a trail of mushrooms after me! Go! Off with you!"

He tried to shoo them again, his arms protected in the mitt-like sleeves of the outfit. The animal hide pulled on like a cloak and tied in the front. It had a hood decorated with beads and eagle feathers, and around Altair's, Malik's and Kadar's necks she draped bone-bead necklaces with a small fan of feathers as the charm.

"These will protect us from harm. In all honesty, they're just charms, but the people here believe they protect."

Altair nodded, and he bowed to the healer woman. Desmond pulled the cloak and mitted sleeves around him. They set out quietly in the dark forest. The mushrooms trailed behind Desmond, who gave up trying to shoo them off and walked beside Altair, behind Malik and Kadar with the map. Altair wished for his armor again as the weight of the blade felt uneven on his side.

Morning passed into noon into evening before they took a break, the thick trees obscuring any sight of the sky they could have. Desmond sat down, winded and sore.

"Let's keep moving, slowpoke," Malik growled.

Desmond grunted, and Altair sat beside him. "We've made enough progress for right now. Let him rest."

"And let the sorcerers find us?"

Desmond waved a hand, and an eagle materialized on his arm. With a grunt, he let it rise into the air. "Now let me rest. My back hurts, and so do my feet."

The mushrooms had settled at and on his feet, covering the sandals and bottom portion of his pants and robe. Altair eyed them critically.

"Doesn't that bother you?" Kadar asked, squatting by the half-circle of mushrooms.

"It's okay. I don't mind them." He wiggled his foot, and they moved as he lifted it to take off his sandal. He pulled the mitted part of the sleeves of his cloak off.

He started massaging his foot, and Malik sighed. "We're almost out of the forest."

"The forest will give us better protection than any grassy field."

Malik rolled his eyes and sat by Kadar. The younger smiled at him and sat in his lap. "Cheer up, brother. After all, this may be the last adventure we have together."

"What do you mean?"

He gestured at Desmond, who was watching them with a raised eyebrow. Malik studied him closely, and Altair thought he saw Desmond's lips twitched into a snarl briefly.

"Ezio is stationed in Byland with Leonardo. They're repairing the citadel. We'll stay there for a night."

Altair nodded. Desmond yelped as three of the mushrooms waddled off with his shoe, and he rose, tripping over the others and falling face-first before scrambling up and chasing after them as they disappeared. Altair chuckled. They sat in silence for a while before Desmond came back, trembling and limping. He looked upset as his shoe dangled in his hand.

"Desmond?" Altair rose, his hand all ready on the hilt of his sword.

Desmond opened his mouth to speak, only to whimper.

"Desmond, what happened?"

He held his foot out, shakily, and Altair looked—to find the remains of a mushroom squished between his toes.

"I-I killed it," he whispered, looking horrified. "I-I stepped on it. I killed it!"

He rolled his eyes as he helped Desmond over to the log and had him sit. He took off his shirt and slowly cleaned off his foot, collecting the pieces inside the dirty tunic. He felt exposed in his just his breeches, belt, scabbard, and boots. He rose once he was done. The other mushrooms had retreated to the edge of the forest.

"Why don't we burn it?"

"You can't be serious, Altair. Burn your shirt? You'll have nothing to protect you!"

Altair shrugged. Desmond still looked horrified as he wiggled his toes. Eventually, the boy nodded, and the Knight set about starting a small fire. Once the body of the mushroom was sufficiently burned, Desmond stood, looking away.

"Let's go. Please, let's go."

"It was just a mushroom, Desmond," Kadar said. "If you're like this with every death, you're not going to fair well in war."

"What happened to all the prisoners you killed at the castle?" Altair asked, glancing behind him to see the mushrooms keeping a safe distance between them as they walked.

Desmond froze. "Dead? No! They were put into servitude!"

Altair raised an eyebrow. "And how did you come to join the sorcerers?"

Desmond looked at the ground as they moved along, leaning on his staff. "The man who took me away was my only friend. I couldn't seem to learn how to use a sword, and I was horrid at strength training. I wasn't allowed near the stables since the horses loved me and ignored their owners. I could do well at endurance training and spear fighting, but that was it.

"I was ostracized by the other kids because I was odd, and it got only worse when one of them started picking on me and a nearby dog attacked him. So, I told the only adult who would listen to me, and he told me of the castle and the sorcerers. He promised me people who would like me, and freedom to go into stables. He promised me that I wouldn't have to learn the art of sword fighting and no more strength training. He promised me people who would love me for who I was. It sounded like a good life, so I went with him when he said he was leaving.

"We left at night, so that no one would see us. He told me it would be labeled 'kidnapping' and that he would be hunted. We met up with a caravan of sorcerers, and I was amazed by the power they had. I remember the feeling of awe I felt. As we travelled, I felt at home. They gave me a teacher, and we began working together. He told me all kinds of stories, and the man who kidnapped me became my personal servant. He died of illness two years ago."

There was silence until Malik froze. Altair grunted as he ran into him, and Kadar patted his brother's shoulder.

"Malik?"

He pointed, and they looked to see a unicorn standing a ways off, watching them carefully. "I've never seen one in reality."

Desmond smiled sadly. "They have been dying off. Every part of them is useful in healing."

He stepped into the forest, and Kadar's breath hitched when the unicorn snorted, lowering its head. Desmond made a soft noise, holding out his hand and putting his staff on his back. The unicorn whinnied softly, its hoof pounding the ground as it jerked forward with its horn. Desmond shushed it, crouching slightly and turning to the side. The unicorn stomped the ground again, and Altair watched with fascination as he started speaking in some throaty language.

The unicorn seemed surprised at Desmond's speech, and it reared suddenly, kicking and shaking its head. Malik tensed, and Desmond rushed forward, falling to his knees beside the unicorn, disappearing in the underbrush. Altair moved forward as the unicorn whinnied and hovered near where the boy fell. He could hear Kadar readying an arrow, and Malik close behind him. When they neared it, they saw a black one lying on its side, bleeding silver from a wound on its side. It's orange mane and tail were matted and dirty, and the two young foals hidden in the bushes made a panicked noise.

Desmond had taken off his robe and was pressing it to the wound, speaking in that soft, throaty speech again. The unicorns were watching the two strangers cautiously. Altair knelt on the other side of the horse and gestured for him to remove the robe. The summoner did so carefully as Malik knelt by him.

"It doesn't look too bad, just bloo—"

There was the whizzing of an arrow and the garbled sound of someone dying. Altair was on his feet immediately, sword drawn.

"Stay here and help it. You have no armor," Malik said as he ran into the forest, searching the area.

Kadar came up behind Desmond, bow and arrow at the ready as Altair turned back to the horse. He caught the small bag of medical supplies that Kadar tossed to him. He heard Malik roar in the background as he pulled out a needle and thread. He bit off a piece and quickly worked to stitch it up as he heard a scream from the horse.

"What's going on?" Desmond said as Altair worked to stitch the unicorn.

"Poachers, undoubtedly. I wouldn't be surprised if there was also a sorcerer with them."

"Sorcerer?"

Malik came running back out, clutching his stomach with one arm as he grimaced. "Two earth, three knives."

Desmond looked confused. Altair grit his teeth as he tied off the thread. "Earth sorcerers, two of them, and three men with knives."

Desmond frowned, standing. The earth beneath his feet rumbled as he drew his staff. "And they think they can get away with merciless killing?"

"They often do—"

He lurched as the earth bucked, and Desmond snarled, hissing words from a spell. Malik fell on the white unicorn, holding on. Altair's eyes widened as the ground came to life, pulling itself into a large form. The earth shook with every step it took, and he pressed against the horse in fear as more formed and walked through trees. They were huge, ugly beasts that lumbered slowly on two legs, their long arms pushing aside trees and leaving mud in their wake. Desmond was a hissing, spitting blur of moves as those golden eyes left lingering trails of light as he danced. The unicorns seemed completely okay, but he was one-step away from pissing his pants.

Malik and Kadar looked equally as terrified as large golems moved through the forest. There was a deep roar, followed by a minor earthquake, and Altair winced as he imagined he heard the sickening squelsh of the bodies. He remained against the black unicorn as the earth trembled and rocked, and the deep roar of the golems rang through the forest. When they came slowly lumbering back, Desmond turned his staff upside down and cut his fingers on the sharpened end. They moved so they were eye-to-eye with the summoner, and Altair watched, frozen, as he marked all over the creatures' faces one by one with his blood.

When he finished, his eyes were back to normal, and the golems were moving steadily away from the horses. Altair was frozen in his spot. Desmond snarled once and plopped beside him. He cast a side-glance at the boy, who looked furious. Malik was still holding onto the white unicorn, and Kadar was against a tree. The summoner reached out and began slowly stroking the unicorn's mane. It nickered softly.

The boy's anger seemed to melt away as he pet the unicorn, and it took a while before Altair could sit up, trembling as he looked at the kid. Desmond looked so innocent sitting there, murmuring quietly to the injured creature as the mushroom people waddled close to him. He smiled at Altair.

"They should be safe now. Your stitches have stopped the bleeding, and the golems will protect the forest and everything in it. We should leave before they come after us, too."

Altair nodded stiffly. "M-Malik… Kadar?"

There were two grunts in response. Desmond kissed the horse and put on the cloak from the wise woman. The silver blood was smeared all over it, and it shimmered in the soft light. It was then that Altair realized they had forgotten his summoner's robes with the Indians. It took a bit, but eventually, they were on their feet and hurrying toward the entrance of the forest. The three Knights were completely silent the entire time.

They walked out of the forest and into the nearest town. The high walls of the citadel loomed imposingly in the night. Malik lead them into the Griffon's Door, a small tavern. Altair quickly found another Knight sitting there with a drink in one hand and a whore in the other, and he sat down.

"Altair! Malik! Kadar! And… who's this?"

Desmond raised an eyebrow, watching him carefully. A man with blonde hair and a notebook sat down on the side with the whore. Desmond stepped closer to Altair, who was staring at the table, still shaken.

"Well?"

"Who are you?" Desmond growled.

"Ezio Auditore. And this is Leonardo."

"Leonardo?" Desmond perked. "I've read your published notebooks! They were one of my textbooks at the castle!"

Leonardo smiled warmly. "Castle? Are you a sorcerer?"

"Summoner," Desmond said, nodding and holding a hand out. "Desmond Miles."

Leonardo's eyes grew wide as he took the hand, standing. "Are—you aren't lying?"

"Golems," Altair said, shaking his head.

"And unicorns," Malik whispered.

"What?" Ezio said.

Desmond regaled the experience, and Ezio's eyes were wide at the end of the tale. Leonardo looked rather faint, and Desmond smiled at the blonde. "I read what you wrote about unicorns, and I always dreamed of seeing one. 'The unicorn, through its intemperance and not knowing how to control itself, for the love it bears to fair maidens forgets its ferocity and wildness; and laying aside all fear it will go up to a seated damsel and go to sleep in her lap, and thus the hunters take it.' Right?"

Leonardo nodded. "I—You…"

Desmond looked at the whore, who was shocked by the story.

"I had it memorized. I loved your texts: they were the only decent ones."

"I—Thank you," Leonardo was still holding his hand, looking utterly floored. "Thank you."

Desmond pulled his hand back and sat beside Altair.

"I wondered why you looked so rough," Ezio said. "Half of the Brotherhood thinks you dead."

Altair frowned and looked at the man. "Do you have any coin?"

Ezio nodded. "Pick pocketed from a sorcerer this morning. Do you need it to buy a shirt and armor?"

Altair nodded. "Stay with these men, Desmond. I will be back. Entertain the summoner."

"It's late, though. The moon is high."

"In this town, no one sleeps. I will have armor by tomorrow." He rose, taking the offered pouch. "Thank you."

He paced out into the night, and found, with little difficulty, a new set of clothes and armor. Ezio had placed an order for armor, and since they were the same in size and build, he purchased them for himself. He was lucky. He bought a meal and haircut—his long hair was bothersome. He didn't know how Ezio did it.

When he returned, he found Desmond against the wall of the tavern, looking mighty uncomfortable. The others were nowhere in sight. When the boy noticed him, he came rushing over.

"Where are the others?"

"Malik, Kadar, and Leonardo all retired. Ezio tried to 'entertain' me with that woman in his arms."

He blinked at the boy before frowning. Only Ezio would consider 'entertaining' the services of a whore. He wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close as they walked to their room.

"What is really that bad?"

"It wasn't that bad until she placed my hands on her breasts and they were—" The boy made a disgusted noise, and Altair bit his lip to keep from chuckling. "And between her legs, she was wet, and it was gross. I just—"

He sighed. "Not every man enjoys a woman, and few enjoy them as much as Ezio."

"What?"

"Take Malik and Kadar, for instance. They find pleasure from each other."

Desmond blinked. "Really?"

"Yes."

"And that's… okay?"

He let Desmond pull away and look at him suspiciously as he nodded. Altair gestured for him to follow to their room. He set the armor by the bed, undoing the buckles and latches. Once he was down to his underclothes, he took a bath, leaving their conversation alone. The boy could take what he wanted from it. Desmond was asleep on the bed by the time he had cleaned. He settled down, feeling better than he had in several weeks, and fell asleep beside him.

He woke up to the feel of Desmond on top of him, out cold, draped over him like a blanket. His hair tickled the Knight's nose, but the boy smelled pleasant. He must have bathed while he was out and about the town. He wrapped his arms loosely around him, careful of the tattoos on his back. The skin was still oily: someone must have put the salve on for him. The boy nuzzled closer, and he could feel Desmond's ear right over his heart. He watched as the summoner woke slowly, and he blinked in the late morning sunlight coming in from the window.

"Morning. Sleep well enough?"

He got a mumbled response as the boy snuggled closer. The charcoal images on his skin looked imposing. He felt the boy yawn against his chest, and he watched as brown eyes turned on him. He let a hand reach to touch his cheek, and Desmond murmured nonsense as he nuzzled against the hand. Altair felt a smile tug at his lips, and he found himself leaning in closer, pressing his lips to Desmond's softly. The boy hummed and pressed back.

The kiss was brief, but Altair enjoyed it immensely. When Desmond pulled back, the boy was smiling softly, slowly waking. The boy leaned again, and he was surprised when the summoner took the initiative to deepen the kiss. He continued the gentle kiss, feeling him wake up the longer it went on.

"Desmond! Get your ass out here now!" Malik yelled from the other side of the door.

Desmond jolted back, wincing as his skin stretched. Altair growled as Desmond rolled off, and he got out of bed and flung open the door.

"Why?"

"Those fucking mushrooms are mobbing the door!"

Desmond dressed quickly and rushed downstairs. Altair pulled on his tunic and pants, buckling the belts and pulling on his boots before walking downstairs to find Desmond. He pushed his way through to the door, only to find Desmond covered in mushrooms, and the people of the citadel gathered around him. There were mice scampering around his feet and several songbirds gathered on the roofs. The alley cats were lurking on ledges, and dogs were barking on their leashes.

Desmond looked helpless in the middle of all the animals. He had mushrooms hanging from his arms, sitting on his head and shoulders, and a couple of climbing mice on his legs. The townsfolk were whispering as he tried to find a way out of all the animals. Altair nudged his way through and grabbed Desmond's hand and clearing a small pathway as he led him inside. There were some mushrooms hanging from him as he pulled him inside.

"You weren't that mobbed when we were outside."

"Uh… I don't know why it's happening."

Altair shook his head. "Eat, and we'll leave."

He walked back to their room and began attaching the armor. He heard the door click shut a minute later.

"Uh… Altair?"

He looked over his shoulder as Desmond picked up his staff. There was a small herd of mushrooms behind him.

"About a few minutes ago, with the kiss…"

Altair raised an eyebrow.

Desmond scratched his head and looked to the ceiling. Shaking his head, he walked over and pinned the summoner to the wall. Altair kissed him deeply. Desmond reacted immediately, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him closer. The Knight pulled back, leaning their foreheads together and pinning him with his gaze. Desmond had the faintest hint of a smile.

He ran his thumb over Desmond's lips before he pulled back and turned to finish with his—Ezio's—armor. He went to attach the vambraces, but paused when Desmond's fingers wrapped around them. He let the boy attach the lower arm guard, watching in silence as he helped him attach the extensive chest and leg protection. Once it was on, he moved about, testing the armor. Ezio's armor fit him like a glove.

"Thank you, Desmond," he said, and turned to find Desmond pulling a mushroom from his head.

There was a small crowd of the creatures prancing around him, and he looked exasperated. Altair led him down to the tavern to get some food, enjoying the heavy weight of armor again. Anti-magic gemstones were crushed and mixed into the casted metal. He smirked: some unlucky sorcerer had bought this for him. Ezio rose when they came down.

"That's my armor!"

Altair nodded sagely. "Was. I took it."

"Damnit, Altair!"

"You're stationed here and can have another made. I must leave."

Ezio scowled. "Asshole."

Altair smirked as Malik eyed the mushrooms with a hateful glare. They danced about obliviously. Kadar was leaning against his brother, yawning. He saw Desmond watching the two's interactions, from Malik feeding him to the touches and kisses they shared. He took Desmond's hand, smirking at surprised look he got, and pressed his lips gently to the back of his hand. The summoner smiled at the gestured.

"I don't get it," Ezio muttered. "I thought you were taking him to his parents? Or are you his stand-in father?"

Desmond looked at Ezio, and Leonardo set his face in his hand. He shook his head at the man, who looked at them, confused. Breakfast passed in relative silence, but he did notice the small smile the summoner had, and when he would squeeze Desmond's hand slightly, he felt the squeeze returned. When they were done, they rose, the armor the three Knights wore clanking loudly. They paid their bills and walked out into the streets. The animals were still there, waiting for him.

"Safety and peace, Altair. Malik. Kadar," Leonardo said, hugging them each.

When he got to Desmond, he hugged the boy tightly. "And the best of luck to you, Desmond. I hope to see you soon under better circumstances."

Desmond smiled and hugged him back. "And then you can teach me more, right?"

Leonardo laughed. "Of course, of course! I will have many different notebooks for you to read!"

The summoner was grinning widely as he brushed a mushroom off his cloak. "I'll look forward to it."

When Altair hugged Ezio goodbye, his fingers curled into the back of his tunic and he growled into Ezio's ear, "Stop bringing the whores into everyone's bed. Some of us don't want an STD."

Ezio flinched. "Sure."

Altair nodded as he stepped back, leading them back to the gates of the citadel. "How many days will it take?"

"Two if we make good time," Malik said, casting a glance at the mushrooms following them.

"Sorry," Desmond muttered. "I can't control them."

"Are they edible?" Kadar asked.

"No, they're toadstools, a poisonous mushroom type," Malik muttered.

"Will we pass through any more towns?"

"No. Then we hit the desert, and it's only a few short hours after than till we get home."

"The desert?" Desmond asked, trying to hide the excitement in his voice.

"Yes," Malik said, giving him an incredulous look, "the place filled with sand, sand, and sand."

Desmond smiled before looking behind him to see one of the mushrooms holding onto the tail of his cloak, and small train of the things all linked together.

"They're adorable!" Kadar said.


	4. Chapter 4

Altair scowled and stopped. Malik met his gaze, and they reached a decision. "Wait here. We're getting horses."

"Wait, why don't I just summon them for you?" Desmond asked, brandishing his staff.

They let him summon four beautiful horses for them to ride, and as they started off, Kadar fell to the back with the summoner as Altair rode ahead with Malik. Neither were happy to see the mushrooms that had crawled on the horse and entwined in the tail and mane. The horse looked less than happy.

"You dunce," Malik hissed. "Those damn mushrooms are going to be the death of us."

"It's not my fault, Malik," Altair hissed back, checking over his shoulder to see Kadar holding a few of them as they trotted away.

"Are you trying to get us killed? There's nothing subtle about those dancing dunderheads. They scream, 'Here's the summoner! Come and kill us!'"

"Look," Altair snarled, "Al Mualim wanted the summoner back, he's getting the summoner back. If we're attacked, we'll fight them off like normal. The kid is too stupid to know the definition of a spy."

"He'll kill us from the inside!"

"He will not. He has too much invested in me."

"We cannot afford to be attacked!"

He fished out some money for four horses. "I know. But you haven't… you haven't even seen how close he is to summoning those gates the prophecy foretold, have you?"

Malik gave him a "duh" look.

Altair pursed his lips. "Perhaps I'll have him show you."

A wicked smirk crawled across his lips: Malik could be just as piss-scared as he was when he had seen them. He'd have to do it carefully, though. The last time he had seen them, the boy had been a wreck when he failed. Two more days, and then they'd be safe.

"You are a fool, Altair."

"I am simply investing in the future."

The day was quiet as they rode, and Altair listened to Desmond's and Kadar's idle conversations. They paused around lunch, eating bread and cheeses that Malik had bought sometime before they left—probably before he had discovered the mobbing mushrooms. They left Desmond in charge of making the meal. He served them all and took the horses to eat in the fields before settling down with his food.

"Desmond," Malik began, "you realize that you are a wanted man."

"Yup."

"You realize that you will be killed—"

"No, I won't they won't lay a hand on me." Desmond smiled at the man. "I'm stronger than them."

"You have no protection against the magicks that the sorcerers use."

He grinned. "I know them all. I can take them."

"You're arrogant," Kadar murmured.

"I've trained with most of them," Desmond said. "They aren't that scary."

"They've been laying waste to our ranks," Altair said. "There is not much longer we can hold out."

"I'll help you," Desmond said. "Fair payment for getting me out of the castle!"

Altair smiled slightly, meeting the boy's gaze. The kid had a soft expression, and Altair nodded. "Thank you, Desmond."

The boy beamed. "No problem!"

"Al Mualim will be furious, Altair. You are making a bad decision," Kadar said. "Kill the boy."

Desmond frowned. Altair shook his head. "Kadar, I do not think you see where the boy's loyalties lie."

"I do, but I am concerned for both of your sakes. Perhaps—"

"I have faith that I will remain alive. I do not need the concern of the Al-Sayf brothers."

"Altair—"

"Quiet, Malik. If push comes to shove, I will run from the Brotherhood and take Desmond with me."

Malik was scowling, and Kadar looked less than pleased.

"But Al Mualim cannot afford to kill me."

"I won't let him kill you." They looked at Desmond, who was scowling. "I'll kill anyone who tries. I owe you at least that much, if not more. You've shown me so many things, and I'll even get to see the desert. I'm not letting you die."

Altair wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. "I have faith that I will walk free, even if Hell is unleashed."

Desmond grinned. "You know: you still sometimes murmur and twitch in your sleep about that."

"Any man in his right mind would," Altair said, leaning back and looking at the sky as Desmond finished the food off.

It was like a picture-book scene: the fields around them were bright and cheerful; the horses were grazing peacefully. The sun was bright and warm; the sky was perfectly blue; the clouds were fluffy and white, and there was a soft breeze. He had Desmond nestled against his side and a full stomach. His strength was easily returning as if he hadn't just run from the sorcerer-infested castle, and his new armor was almost comfortable. He closed his eyes when the next breeze blew over them, exhaling softly. Two more days, and his fate would be decided.

He cracked an eye to see Malik studying them and Kadar with his head in his lap, playing with the grass around them. They had settled just off the path in the tall-grassed area. He stiffened when he felt something crawl up his arm, and he looked to see a small harvest mouse moving across his chest to stare at Desmond, who blinked and held a finger out to it. A bird landed on the boy's shoulder, and he smiled. It would be so easy to fall asleep here.

A few hours later, he woke with a yawn. Desmond was fast asleep on top of him, and Malik and Kadar were out cold a few feet away. The mushrooms were crowded on one side of the summoner, and there were an odd assortment of small creatures scattered around. He was surprised to find a wildcat curled up next to Kadar, and snakes coiled near their feet. He tightened his grip around Desmond's waist and buried his nose in his hair, inhaling deeply. The boy murmured something in his sleep, and Altair felt him shift.

"Desmond," he murmured.

The boy looked at him, his eyes hardly cracked open as he Altair leaned in and kissed him. Desmond smiled against his lips.

"You wouldn't let me die, would you?" he asked quietly, keeping their lips touching.

"Course not, I love you too much," he mumbled, still asleep.

Altair ran a hand through his hair, letting him resettle against his chest and fall back asleep. He knew he wasn't going to die. When the sun had begun its steady descent down, Malik woke, and they all rose in silence, mounting the horses and riding off to make up for the time they had lost. They rode well into the night, and it was passed high moon before they stopped again.

"Have we made up the time?" Altair said as Desmond took the bag with their dinner supplies in it.

"Yes," Malik replied. "Thankfully, we have. We'll hit the desert border tomorrow at midday if we don't sleep too late."

"That nap was fun," Kadar said, plopping next to his brother. "I don't think I've ever had such a relaxing side trip."

"With good reason," Altair said, "too many of those, and we'll become slow and weak."

Kadar laughed, kicking the bottom of Altair's boot. "So you say. You're just jealous because Malik can still kick your butt in combat."

Altair scoffed, but said nothing as Desmond sat beside him, waiting for the food to get done.

"So, do we get to see the Gates?" Kadar asked him.

Malik cuffed him over the head. "Do you want to die?"

Kadar shrugged. "They sound cool."

Desmond grinned. "Not really."

"You should see him when he fails the summoning," Altair murmured. "His body cannot handle the strain. He tried summoning the Gates of Hell, and he was bed-ridden for a week or so afterward, and confined to his room for another two. His body acted as if it were the body of an old man."

Desmond offered a small smile before looking at the fire. "Vidic used to get so pissy with me 'cause I couldn't seem to summon it."

"From the dance you did, it looked hard."

"It was such a strain on me and my concentration. I couldn't do it."

"I'm sure you'll get there someday."

"I'm not so sure I want you to," Malik deadpanned. "I rather enjoy living in the present."

Desmond laughed, and Altair pulled him close. The mushrooms were settled in the grass not too far from where they were.

"Who will take the shift tonight?"

"I can," Desmond said. "I can summon something to protect us."

Malik gave him a distrustful look, but nodded. "I suppose that would work."

"Great!" Desmond said, rising and letting the horses vanish before spreading his hands and carving from the earth a manticore. The tall grasses weaved to create the snake tail, and the dirt rose to give the hind flanks of a horse and the front of a lion. When it was done, Desmond fell to his knees and scratched the lion's head, cooing at it. Altair watched the exchange carefully, and he mused on just how well the boy got along with the animals briefly before the manticore wandered off, and Desmond was serving them dinner. He accepted his graciously and ate the soup quietly. One more day until the adventure was over.

That night, after Malik and Kadar were out cold, he was sitting and watching the fire. He didn't have a good feeling about tomorrow. He knew they would reach the hideout in the evening, and he would have to deal with Al Mualim. Malik's hesitation caused him worry. He wasn't one to disobey orders, but he couldn't kill the boy. Perhaps after he had his armor back on he would kill him—in the morning. Give him a fair chance at winning.

Desmond sat beside him, smiling softly, and leaned in for a kiss. He leaned into it, tilting his head just enough. When he felt the boy's lips press against his, he pushed Desmond backwards so he was on his back. He felt the summoner's arms grip the back of his head, his fingers curling into the small hairs there. It had been too long since he had had this kind of contact with a person. He slipped one hand under the robes, gripping his hip and stroking the skin under the layers of clothing.

Desmond sighed softly as he trailed his hand up the skin, and he broke their lip lock to kiss a path up to his ear. "If we do this here, we'll have to be quiet."

The summoner smirked, "That's no problem. Show me how it's done."

Altair hummed as he adjusted himself: he was going to take the virginity of the most powerful man on their planet. Knowing that in and of itself sent a shiver of arousal down his spine.

When morning came, it found them both under Desmond's cloak, spooning. They were cleaned and dressed, and Altair had his nose buried in the boy's hair and his arms wrapped loosely around his waist. When Malik and Kadar stirred, the manticore returned, lying beside the two as they slept. Altair was the first to wake, waking Desmond as he detangled himself. He let the boy help him put on the armor, almost feeling bad when he winced as he moved. They ate a light breakfast of leftover bread and a few eggs Kadar found (Desmond vehemently refused). The mushrooms followed behind their horses as the rode off, the summoner sitting like royalty.

They rode in silence, and occasionally, Altair would watch the boy until he noticed his gaze and would smile at him, and the Knight would offer a small smile in return. He was holding himself proudly, and the look he had when they first entered the desert was priceless. He was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed despite his pain, and he was falling in love with the scenery despite the heat. While the three Knights cursed their existence, Desmond was full of energy. The heat didn't bother him.

Eventually, they approached a familiar dune, the cactus and jutting rocks of the cliff signified their hideout. It was near the base of the mountains, and as he dismounted and led the boy down into the corridor, reveling in the difference in the air temperature as they walked through a labyrinth of hallways until they reached a door. Malik knocked, saying the current password, and Altair felt that feeling from last night return: that knotting, twisting sense of dread he had had before he fucked Desmond.

He stepped in front of him as one of the servants led him up to Al Mualim's desk. He glared at the other Knights in the base as they walked, holding himself high and silently proclaiming no one would touch the boy behind him. Desmond had his staff in his hand and was leaning on it slightly, the pain from the healing tattoos and his lower back finally taking its toll. They were lead farther underground to Al Mualim's office, and when they got there, Altair knocked.

They were lead into the simple room with a cat that prowled the edges of the room. When it noticed Desmond, it loped over, and the summoner plopped down gratefully to pet the cat, a look of relief washing over him. Altair watched him as he waited for the old man to appear. The mushrooms were soaking up water from a large bowl one of the servants brought in, and Desmond had stolen a sip from it. Altair wished he didn't have to wait until after he was done with Al Mualim to get some water. Malik stood silently beside him, and Kadar looked as if he wanted to join Desmond. Finally, the old man in the black robes appeared.

"Altair, it is good to have you back."

Altair bowed his head respectfully. "Safety and peace, master."

"I see you managed to bring back the summoner."

Desmond was lying with the cat in his arms, his eyes closed and looking utterly at peace.

"Tell me, if your orders were to kill him, why did you not kill him on the outright?"

Altair bowed his head again, wishing he could live as carefree as the mushrooms that had walked over and planted themselves on his boots.

"Well, Altair?"

"Permission to speak, master," Malik said. There was a brief silence before Malik spoke again. "He has fallen in love with the boy."

There was a tense silence as he felt Al Mualim look him over.

"Is this true, Altair?"

Altair drew a deep breath and straightened, looking the old man in the eye. "Yes, master."

"And how did this come to be, child? Tell me of your mission. Have a seat."

They did as they were told, and Altair spared him no detail in the overview. Al Mualim didn't bat an eye as he asked for all the details of the golems and the Gates of Hell, of the Roc and the mushrooms (to which Altair gladly put his boots on his master's desk to let him look at them), and of the tattoo and the manticore. Sometime during the story, Desmond woke, and the cat head butted him until he lazily started playing with it. By the time he was done, Al Mualim was observing the boy closely.

"And you're sure his loyalties will stay with us?"

"I am sure his loyalties will stay with me, and you know I will not stray from the Brotherhood, master."

Al Mualim nodded. "Yes, although, I am curious now: do you think that he would be willing to show us one of them?"

Altair looked over at Desmond, who caught his gaze and smiled softly, sleepily. "He may, but I'm concerned about the strain it will put on him if he fails."

"He doesn't have to summon the Gates of Hell. What about the Gates of Heaven?"

"He falls into a catatonic state for weeks, master."

"That would put us at quite the disadvantage."

Altair watched the man rise and pace over to Desmond, who was fast asleep again. When he went to touch him, the cat bapped his ear, and the summoner stirred, waking and rising. The cat sat on his shoulder as he leaned on the staff.

He yawned. "Yeah?"

"Come and join us."

Desmond nodded and staggered over to the fourth chair, plopping down and rubbing his eyes. Al Mualim picked up the bowl with the remaining mushrooms and set it on his desk. The old man gestured for water, and Altair graciously took the offered cup, filling it several times before he was satisfied. Malik and Kadar seemed to be relaxing as well with water.

"Tell me, Desmond," Al Mualim began.

Desmond raised an eyebrow before pursing his lip. "Yeah?"

"You realize you are a traitor to this—"

"Not this bullshit again. Good Mother Naer, can't you leave well enough alone?"

"Desmond," the old man said as he gave him a serious look, "I am simply concerned for your welfare here."

"I don't give a flying crap about what the others think. I can defend myself. Altair will attest to that."

Altair watched the exchange.

"I value Altair as my second-in-command. I trust what he says, and he has never betrayed me."

"Good. So listen to him, all right? I'm only here because of him."

Al Mualim sighed and rested his head in his hand. "You haven't changed."

"Nope." He relaxed, smiling softly when the cat jumped into his lap.

"I will have your quarters cleaned and readied for the both of you. I hope, Desmond, that you will consider showing us one set of the Gates. You four are dismissed. Malik, give your maps to the library for copying. The mess hall will send down a meal for you."

"Master," Altair said, bowing, "Desmond doesn't eat meat, if you can help it."

Al Mualim frowned. "I wondered why the boy was so skinny. Does he eat no eggs? No milk?"

"I will drink milk, but no eggs and no meat. Nothing a living creature will come from," Desmond said, scowling.

Al Mualim nodded, sighing. "Yes, I will have something sent to you. Altair, go and relax. You have done well to bring home such an important person."

Altair bowed and led him out, walking back to his room. It was still untouched from when he last left, and he was surprised when Desmond walked over and flopped on his bed. Altair climbed on top of him and bumped their foreheads together.

"Feeling okay?"

"I can't wait to sleep in something that won't hurt," Desmond replied, wrapping his arms around Altair's neck and pulling him into a kiss.

Altair growled and nipped at his lips, deepening the kiss. Desmond went with it willingly, opening up and letting him dominate. He was hungry and more than willing to take what the summoner was offering, but a knock at the door called him away, and he almost didn't with how undone Desmond was quickly becoming. He licked his lips and pulled back, walking to the door.

"Yes?" he growled.

There was a servant holding a tray of food, and he sighed, stepping aside to let her in. She placed the food on the small bedside table, bowed, and walked out. Altair frowned after she left, but walked over and uncovered one of the two plates. It was a vegetarian dish.

"Your food."

Desmond sat up discarding the cloak and taking the plate. He watched the boy eat as he picked up his plate and sat at the small desk on the other side of the room, turning the chair to see him. The summoner was enjoying the food, and Altair felt a small smile tug at his lips.

"This is a nice place. Better than the town I was in."

Altair frowned. "You realize Al Mualim wasn't kidding when he asked you to summon the Gates of Hell."

Desmond shrugged. "I might."

* * *

><p><strong>I'm so fucking sorry I just flood your emails with updates. And I'm even more sorry my chapters are ridiculously long. I just... hate having to divide up chapters. D:<strong>


	5. And so Begins the End of the Yarn

**Sorry for the short update. ...Is this really a 1000 word chapter? O.O**

**Don't feel obligated to review. I just wanted to get this up for my own ease of the story. Purely selfish reasons, yes. Besides, you all know what's coming, so this isn't too suspenseful... I think.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Altair studied the boy closely. "Why put yourself through the strain?"<p>

"It's not like I feel it."

"What? You were—"

"I wasn't talking about the Gates of Hell. I'm not doing that."

"That's what I said."

"Oh… Look, I'd consider the Gates of Heaven if you wanted, but I remember you after the Gates of Hell. You were screaming in your sleep for weeks."

Altair scowled.

"I understand why. But I really don't want to summon them again. At least with the Gates of Heaven, I'm just… dead to the world. I don't mind that."

"Why would you summon them? It's clear failure is not a pleasant option."

Desmond shrugged. "I'm not gonna do it right now. I'll wait a bit."

They ate in silence, and Altair stretched when he was done, feeling weariness from their adventures finally seeping into his bones now that he was home—instead of on the road or at an inn.

There was a pounding on the door, followed by Malik's voice. "Come get your mushrooms, you idiot. I'll squish them if you don't."

Desmond was opening the door before Altair could blink. He watched the happy little things trail in, their roots all linked together, and they settled on the floor in a giant mess of mushrooms. Malik was scowling.

"Why did they even follow me in the first place?"

The summoner shook his head, thoroughly confused. "I don't know. They're just mushrooms, though. I didn't summon them."

Malik sighed. "Very well. Keep them in your room." He watched his friend reach behind him and pull mushroom from his armor. "They are like sand in the desert. They are everywhere."

As Malik walked off, Altair called after him, "Send for a large bowl of water, if you can."

He saw Desmond close the door and walk over, counting them. "They're all here, I think."

Altair nodded and settled back in his chair, frowning. The summoner settled back on the bed.

"What's wrong?"

"You seemed so different in front of Al Mualim."

"That old codger? Hell, I hate him. No point in disguising it."

Altair shook his head, rising. "Scoot over. I am taking a nap."

Desmond smiled. "Can I go find Kadar?"

"Whatever you choose to do, but let me sleep. Are you sure you are not too sore?"

"I'll be fine."

Altair nodded as he stripped from the armor and collapsed on the bed. Weariness from travelling in the desert was getting to him, as well as all the excitement of the past few days. He hoped Desmond wasn't planning on running again anytime soon. He seemed content with being around him and the Al-Sayf brothers, but the man was powerful, and he could only hope he was still Desmond's favorite when the shit exploded. He wasn't too terribly fond of the world ending quite yet.

He woke to the feeling of someone jerking at him around, jolting when he felt something cold and metal wrap around his wrists. He started thrashing wildly in his captors' hold, alarmed to find it was his own brothers. He snarled and twisted, thrashed and kicked—only to find his legs all ready chained. He must have been more tired than he realized to have not felt that. And then it dawned on him: the food must have been drugged.

"If you've harmed Desmond, you will—"

"Relax, my child."

He roared and pulled at the bonds again. Déjà vu came over him as he was forced to his knees. Al Mualim came strolling out into the large commons area. It was full of the others there, all dressed in war gear, their weapons at the ready. He saw Malik and Kadar standing off to the side, both looking shocked, but ready for war.

"What is going on?" Altair roared, throwing himself against his captors. "Where is Desmond—"

"Desmond is fine, helping in the kitchens. He does not know. Do not worry about him. It is you that you should worry about."

"What are you talking about?" he growled, watching his master as thrashed and squirmed.

Al Mualim stopped in front of him, his hands behind his back. Altair snarled.

"The sorcerers are approaching our hideout."

Altair growled. "Then let me go and I will slay them!"

"I do not believe you. You have led us into a trap, haven't you? You lead the summoner here with the intentions of letting the sorcerers track him! You are a traitor to this brotherhood!"

Altair roared, throwing himself against the bonds and people again as Al Mualim watched him, shaking his head.

"I had such faith in you, Altair. I cannot believe you—"

Altair snarled, looking down to see a mushroom tugging on his pants. Hot damn, he wanted to kill that little shit, smiling up at him as if he weren't about to be killed for something he didn't do. It gestured behind him, and he turned his head, only to see a crowd of people. He looked back at it, then up when he heard the sound of a blade unsheathing. Al Mualim had drawn a sword, and he was force to bend over to stare at the ground. He hoped Al Mualim would take his head off with one blow. The mushroom was still dancing there, pointing behind him, and he saw Al Mualim's feet appear beside him.

"I cannot believe you would betray the Brotherhood, Altair. You were one of my best."

"I didn't know he was being tracked!"

"How could you have not? Someone as important as him? Of course they would place a tracking spell on him."

"How could I have not? I was too busy recovering from all the nightmares about those damn gates! Let me go! I will kill the sorcerers, or die trying!"

"How do we know that you will not side with them? You lead them here—kept the boy alive under the lie of love? No, Altair, I cannot let you live. It is time for your farewells."

This was it. He was a dead man for a crime he didn't commit, and that fucking mushroom was still dancing below him. He could do nothing to convince Al Mualim he had forgotten tracking spells existed. He heard someone scream, accompanied by the slick sound of the metal slicing the air.


	6. Gates of Heaven

He felt the sword touch his neck, and he closed his eyes. The sharp edge of the metal dug into his skin into his throat, neck, spine, and he jerked, feeling it bite deeper. He lost all feeling to his body as he hardly registered the pain, and he waited to die.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited, but the sword was still partly in his neck, and he could feel the warm blood drizzling down his skin. He couldn't feel anything lower than his head, and he wondered why the blade had stopped. He watched his blood drip onto the mushroom, which had frozen in place.

"Oh, my… are we too late?" It was soft, kind.

"Mother, we are gods." The voice was hard.

He felt a warm hand on the back on his head, and he exhaled loudly.

"Here, let me help," a new voice, teasing and jeering.

He heard the blade clatter to the ground, and from his peripheral vision, he could see a pile of dust where Al Mualim had been standing. There was warmth on the back of his neck, and someone wiping up the blood, and suddenly he could move again, and he jerked, his arms and legs free of the bindings, and he yelped when he saw a beautiful young man cloaked in shadows, the epitome of mirth and mischief. He was trembling when he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see a beautiful woman standing there.

"Be calm, child."

"He does not believe, Mother."

He twisted to see a third person, another gorgeous young man, watching him with cold eyes. A whimper escaped him, and the man cloaked in shadows laughed.

"He's afraid of us! Amilass, you shame us, scaring the very creatures you made!"

He looked between the two men, trembling. When he saw the shadowed man step forward, he snatched the mushroom out from under his feet, clutching the little frozen body close. The shadowed man tilted his head, scratched his chin, and waved a hand. The mushroom popped to life again, dancing in his hands, and Altair jumped, causing the man to laugh. The colder of the two men was walking around, looking the people over gathered in the small room. Some started moving again, and others turned to dust. Altair's muscles were tensing up as he watched them.

"Be generous, Amilass."

He turned to see the beautiful woman holding Desmond in her lap. He lay as if he were dead. The Gates behind them were small, but overwhelming in their glory. There were pearls and jewels casted into the elaborate golden gates, and they were wide open, a warm and inviting mix of colors swirling behind them. Altair was captivated by their beauty. They were filling the room with a calming feeling, an inviting pull. His trance was broken when a number of men marched out, large, beautiful wings on their backs and flaming swords in their hands.

"Go. Separate those who will live from those who will die, and bring them here."

Altair jumped to his feet. "M-Malik! Kadar!"

His hand had the sword of the Knight behind him. The colder of the two stared at him. The shadowed man laughed as the men—angels—vanished.

"You can't kill us. We're gods, idiot."

"Gods or no," Altair growled, the mushroom in one hand and the sword in the other, "I will fight you to the death if they do not live."

The shadowed man laughed. The colder man quirked an eyebrow. Altair was trembling as he held the sword, the warmth of the blood still in his clothes, even if he couldn't feel the wound.

"My brother saves your life, and you threaten to get yourself killed in vain?" the colder one said.

The shadowed man clapped his hands, laughing. The mushroom was making soft, happy noises. "Amilass, you outdid yourself on this one! I like him."

His eyes grew wide as the shadowed man rolled his hand and produced another mushroom, and another, and another, and a couple of dragonflies, and several mice, and a tiny white bird. He scowled and clutched his mushroom closer.

"Oh, come on: you don't want a different one?"

He snarled.

"Al-Altair?"

He turned, hugging Kadar tightly after moving the mushroom to his shoulder.

"What's going on?"

"Your humans are such funny creatures," the shadowed man said, and Altair whirled around, his sword at the ready again.

His gaze flickered from one man to the other, and he startled at the piles of dust. There were maybe ten of the original Knights left, and they all looked bewildered before gathering beside Altair.

"A leader to be sure," Amilass murmured, and the woman holding Desmond laughed.

He looked around, panicking as the ground and their surroundings began to melt away, disappearing, reforming, until they were standing in the desert, the hideout gone. The lady was smiling as she ran a hand through Desmond's hair, and drawing himself up, Altair walked over, standing in front of her. She was older than the other two by several decades, but only up close were any signs of age visible. He stared into her eyes, and try as he might to be imposing, he felt himself relaxing in her presence.

"You made a wise decision with your summoner, Amilass."

There were many more sorcerers than Knights, Altair noted, walking over from behind the Gates. It made him uncomfortable. If these three truly were gods, of course there would be more sorcerers. The sorcerers worshipped the Great Mother Naer and her two children, Amilass and Asden, the first who created the humans, and the second who created the animals, Hell, and everything in it.

"Now you're thinking right!"

He whipped around to see the shadowed man, Asden, he presumed, laughing, and he scowled, before turning back to stare at Desmond.

"He will be okay," the woman murmured, and he jumped, looking at her.

She smiled softly, still stroking the boy's hair.

"He's dead," he said, feeling Malik come up behind him and look.

"If they are truly gods, then they will bring him back."

He looked at Malik, who had a disbelieving look, and nodded, turning to the other few Knights, who were joined by the sorcerers with one angel behind them, hands on the hilt of the flaming sword. He walked over, looking over them closely, then back to Amilass, who was watching him, drilling into his soul with that gaze, and he gave him an emotionless stare. God or no, he wasn't going to let him lead him. He could lead the others just as well.

"If you keep thinking like that, I may end up killing you."

Altair's lip curled.

"Amilass, do not speak such things. You created the man to lead."

He kept his gaze on the god, but the god turned to the woman. Altair jumped when more people, a handful of maybe five, appeared, another angel flanking them. He looked around as the desert transformed into a plain, and the cliff into a beach, leading gently down to the ocean. His lip twitched, and he realized there were more people there now, and two more angels. From the ground came a small community of houses, earthen and primal, and Altair's eyes narrowed: setting them back in progress. Cruel as well as ineffective.

"Watch your mouth, ignorant human," Amilass said. "I am recreating this world."

Altair's lip curled, and he turned to look at the mushroom when it started clicking again. His scowl vanished.

"See, brother? You could not keep these humans without my animals. Face it: I knew better."

"My humans eat your animals."

He watched as a rabbit hopped over, through the grasses, and stopped on his foot.

"So? They are quick to repopulate."

His gaze flickered over to Desmond, again, and the Gates. He felt like a sheep.

"You are."

Altair glared at the colder of the two brothers. He wasn't going to stand for that, and if he had to, he would fight tooth and nail.

"You will not win."

He didn't care. He smirked when Amilass's eyes narrowed.

"You're testing my patience."

He didn't care: he could just as good as him. The last of the angels returned, and there was a group of maybe a couple hundred people, and the angels surrounding them more than intimidated him, but he watched them walk back through the Gates. He watched Amilass step forward, drawing the attention of all the people behind him. Altair startled when his legs moved on their own accord, drawing him closer to the god. He tried to stop his legs, but he found them unable to be stopped. He scowled, trying to get away. When he reached the god, he tried to lunge forward, but he couldn't. The god turned him around and placed his hands on Altair's shoulders. He tried to snarl, but found himself frozen stiff.

"This man will be your leader. Together, you will rebuild the world together."

He gazed at the people in front of him, feeling as if he were being stripped down and analyzed. He knew he could lead them. He lead most of them all ready whenever Al Mualim was unable to for sickness or injury (Naer knew he was old enough he could've keeled over at any time).

"Amilass. Let us leave."

He watched as the gods moved to the gates again.

"The world has been reset; let us leave."

"Not without Desmond, you don't!" Altair snarled, trying desperately to move.

The woman—Naer?—merely smiled, kissing Desmond's head and setting him down. He thrashed against his invisible bindings, watching as the three gathered by the Gates. With a smirk from the shadowed man, he watched them disappear. The Gates shut behind them, and in a poof in cloud and smoke, they were gone, and he was standing in a wide-open plain with a beautiful beach on one side, and mountains in the distance. He frowned, walking over to Desmond and picking the boy up. The boy coughed, groaning miserably and stirring in his arms, and Altair hugged him tightly. He felt Desmond grip the arms of his sleeves, gasping into his shoulder. Eventually, he stopped shaking in Altair's arms, and he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Ah-Altair," he gasped, and Altair cupped the back of his head.

"You're alive," he whispered. "Great Mother Naer, you're alive."

He heard Desmond chuckle, rasping for breath as he clung to him.

"What?"

"You said, when we first met, you didn't believe."

Altair smiled softly. "I did."

There was a dry laugh, and he picked Desmond up, helping him stand on his own two feet.

"I may have seen your work."

He felt Desmond smile against his neck. Altair looked when he heard someone cough. Malik was standing there, scowling, and Kadar had a hand in front of his mouth, a mischievous look in his eyes.

"So then, Master," Kadar said, emphasizing the last word and laughing quietly, "what do we do now that the gods have allegedly destroyed the world and picked you to lead us?"

He heard Malik snort, and watching him cross his arms. The other people there looked lost and shaken up. Altair shook his head, holding Desmond close.

"Simple, since we all ready have homes," Desmond said, rasping loudly into his shoulder. "We throw a party. We're still alive, aren't we?"

The Knights laughed, agreeing wholeheartedly. They were used to weird magic shit. This was going to roll off their backs. The others, maybe not so much, but they would work to help them move along. Life and death were trivial to a Knight. Kadar was looking at him expectantly, trying to hide his smile, and even Malik had a twinkle in his eye. The sorcerers looked hopelessly lost, and random others watched, wide-eyed. Altair smirked.

"That sounds reasonable enough. Let's throw a festival."

There was a confused murmur through the crowd.

"If we really are the only ones alive, then there's no use in mourning what we'll never get back," Altair said. "This is the part of the doctrine of the Knights, and it has never failed us. Come: let us celebrate our lives."

* * *

><p><strong>Maybe it says something about me. XD I didn't really want to use Jesus, or Buddha, or Allah, or Barney, or whoever your god is, in case they get mad whenever I die. D:<br>**


	7. Gates of Hell

He jumped when an explosion of dark magic surrounded him, long, twisting tentacles writhing. The mushroom was still dancing as he straightened and looked behind him to see Desmond there, glowing gold, his staff gone. He was speaking in that foreign language, and his eyes froze Altair. His feet starting moving in that familiar pattern he had seen few weeks ago, and Altair jumped when he felt Malik and Kadar start undoing the chains. The men holding him back and Al Mualim were restrained by the dark matter, and Altair was trembling as he watched Desmond perform the deadly dance.

"Come, let us get out of here," Malik said, tugging him to his feet.

The others were all ready fleeing the room. Altair backed off slowly, captivated by the sight before him, the violent gestures and moves Desmond was doing, the trail of his golden eyes burning with fury. The words were nothing more than a hiss now, and he stumbled when the ground lurched.

"Altair!" Kadar shouted, running back to his side. "Come on!"

Altair grabbed his hand.

"Brother—what is wrong? Altair?"

He whimpered when he saw the earth split behind Desmond, and he shrunk back. Not these gates again. Black magic spilled from the tear like fog and made the summoner's gold body an even more frightening sight. Heaven so save him.

"Malik! I need your help!"

He tugged against Kadar's hand, trying to scrabble backwards as the ground jolted again, and the crack grew wider, deeper, darker. Malik had grabbed his other hand, and Altair fought, terrified of going even one more step closer, and he nearly screamed when he felt something warm touch his foot.

"What the hell?" Malik shouted, looking behind him as the ground lurched violently again. "I-it's blood!"

Altair was trembling worse than the earth as the top of the Gates pushed through, the intricate arrangements of bones and laughing skulls crying blood freezing him in his spot.

"We've got to get out of here!"

"What is that smell?"

"Damn! The door collapsed! We're stuck here!"

Altair's foot jerked as blood seeped through his pantleg, the black magic rolling over him, his leg, licking at his clothes like fog. It was different this time. The Gates weren't quite the same. Kadar and Malik were by his side, watching in horror.

The shrill laughter of the skulls turned into screeches as they grew horns, flesh filling out over them and stretching around the bones. The earth gave one more mighty heave, and the Gates shot forth, bursting through the roof and causing the sand to fall in thick clouds. Desmond was snarling, whirling, in the black clouds of magic as the rest of the hideout began to collapse around them. The Gates were even bigger from a ground view, and he was frozen in fright. He could see the sorcerers, hundreds of them for one last attack, a ways behind the Gates as the doors cracked open. He could see the blood oozing from the cracks in the doorway, the smell of rotting flesh and sulfur filling his nose and making his nauseated. The heads decorating the Gates were laughing, high-pitched to the point it hurt, and he could see the three dragged forward by the black tentacles. Altair whimpered, and he could feel Malik and Kadar crouch beside him, holding onto him tightly.

He flinched when the Gates opened a considerable amount and the smell got stronger. The ground burst into flames around them, and he tried to shrink. He could still see the Gates, looming, laughing, and the black form behind them as it tried to escape. Desmond roared, sounding much like the noise from the beast behind the Gates, and the doors flew open.

Altair leaned back, the heat of the flames around him of no concern, and watched a seven-headed dragon step out, spewing white flame. It was beautiful—wonderful—to look at. It was massive and imposing, but it's beauty was overwhelming. Its wings were huge; its scales neatly kept. Images of it consuming the land and earth that it touched filled his head. He saw creatures, ugly, horrid, nasty beasts fly from behind the dragon and race across the land, and he could see the visions of death and destruction, torment and pain they left in their wake. He saw them burn lands and rape women, brutally slaughtering children and gutting men. Pets were massacred; livestock, ripped to shreds. Screaming filled his ears, and the visions were more frightening than if he were actually there. The creatures' laughter made him flinch, and Altair whimpered when he was jerked from the visions.

He screamed when he saw the head of the dragon in front of him. It was hideous: nothing like he had first seen. It was ugly and ill-kept; its eyes burned with hate. Altair vomited, barely avoiding the mushroom planted directly in front of him. It sprang to life, staring straight at him. He was envious. It didn't look like it knew what was going on. He felt Kadar's hands on his hips, and the boy's chest against his ass as the young man tried to hide. Malik had one arm around his waist, the other shaking as it had a hand on the hilt of his sword. Altair heaved again, nothing but stomach acid coming up, relieved when the head moved away. He felt the ground shake with every step it took, moving farther away, the flames dying down little by little.

After a few minutes, he sat back, looking around as he wiped his mouth off. Kadar was still clinging to him, and Malik looked about ready to bolt. The mushroom continued to dance in front of him. With a shaking hand, he let the mushroom climb to sit in his palm. It was making an odd sort of clicking noise. It was soft, calming, and happy all things aside.

"Hey," he said, hoarse.

It wiggled around in his palm, and he watched it, ignoring the flames around them (amazingly enough, they hadn't touched him). He exhaled shakily as he watched the mushroom dance cheerfully, and he hardly noticed when Kadar reached out. It flailed, then wrapped its root-arms around his finger, dancing with it. He heard an almost hysterical laugh from Kadar. The flames were dying slowly, and those monstrous walls of flames were now the same height as him. He could see the Gates of Hell, wide open, but quiet—eerily so.

He felt Kadar press against his side, playing with the mushroom. Malik was standing, trying to peer over the flames. The mushroom seemed to help calm his nerves—he'd be having nightmares for months—years, now. He chuckled softly, borderline hysteric.

They jumped when they heard two separate roars in the background, and he almost crushed the poor creature in his fright. Malik was quivering, his sword drawn, and Altair tried to stop the whine. Kadar had his face buried in Altair's sleeve.

He heard a loud hiss, and it drew closer and closer. He clutched the mushroom close, and jumped when he felt something cool wet his pants. He looked down to see water around his legs, the flames going out with an almost deafening hiss. Of course, he could've just been deaf still from previously—but he wasn't going to think about that. He rose, holding the mushroom in his hand, nearly dying of a heart attack when it jumped from his hand and landed with a splash in the water, which was now up to his calves. He looked around to see several others rising from the water, all of them looking as horrified as the others.

In the distance, he could see the dragon. It was communicating with another beast, and it looked like a mash of cats, with a crown adorning each of the seven heads. He found himself frozen once more in his spot, watching.

"Altair! Malik! Kadar!"

He jumped and turned to look to see several of the other Knights wading toward them. The water was now to his knees, still clear despite the amount of dirt and ash. A scarce handful of people—dressed like sorcerers—were also wading forward, and Altair recognized the talker as Rauf, one of the men who helped train the novices.

"You lived?" Malik said. "What? Did it randomly pick people not to kill?"

The mushroom was happily splashing in the crystal clear water, bobbing around and making those small, soft clicking noises over the hiss as the water spread, spilling into the gates. Altair could see the ash rise up like cloud, murk the water for a little bit, then settle back down as the people walked closer. Desmond was frozen, his mouth still moving rapidly with his fingers pressed together. He was still glowing, and Altair was hesitant to go to touch him. He felt something brush his foot, surprised to see a sea snake. The mushroom remained oblivious. Altair didn't know what he'd do without that stupid little thing.

"Hey… isn't that one of those things that followed—"

"Yeah," Altair muttered.

"You guys look like shit. What the Hell else happened beside the water and the flames and the Gates? Did something come out of it?"

Altair gestured in the beasts' general direction, feeling his blood pump faster and his trembling come back at just the thought of it. He concentrated on the mushroom. The mushroom calmed him down. The mushroom would be his relaxation. The water felt cool, and the mushroom was happy. Things were good. If only he knew Desmond were okay, he could relax completely and block that experience from his mind.

He could feel one of the beasts walking closer, and he tensed, stepping closer to the mushroom as it "swam." He looked behind him to see the seven-headed lion-cat-mashed thing walking toward him. The dragon was nowhere in sight, and the Gates had vanished without a sound. It's what he got for not paying attention. There was a crowd of about fifty people now, sorcerers and Knights alike all talking in whispers as they waited for somebody to do something as the beast grew closer. Altair felt relatively good the longer he watched the little mushroom, the incident already fading quickly from his mind to be locked away so long as he didn't think on it. A little dark blue blob with a propeller on its head splash landed next to the mushroom, and the two of them bobbed about like the best of friends. It was smiles and joy just like the mushroom. Altair found himself smiling. It must have been a tree fruit that stayed above the flames using the updrafts.

He picked them up and held them close as he waded through to Desmond. He could hear the beast moving closer still, and he reached out, hearing the whispers stop as he paused inches from Desmond. He could feel the power emanating from the boy. The mushroom climbed onto his shoulder, and the blue tree fruit sat on his head.

"Don't."

He looked over his shoulder, around the mushroom, to see the beast of the sea speak.

"Don't."

He froze up, watching it get closer and closer.

"Let me absorb him."

The words hit him like a wall, and Altair snarled, clamping his hands on either one of Desmond's arms.

Everything seemed to stop for a moment.

Desmond was looking straight at him, even though his eyes were nothing more than gold. He felt the mushroom and waddle down his arm to sit on the summoner's shoulder, and the tree fruit leapt from his head to land on the other shoulder. With a jerk, his fingers broke apart; his head rolled back, and Altair gritted his teeth. He could hear the beast roar behind him.

He tried not to let his fear get the best of him as he felt Desmond jerk violently, his arms pressing against his sides, and the gold flickered. Altair watched the boy jerk about, and he refused to let go. The mushroom and the tree fruit were making those soft clicking noises again. They sounded even better in chorus, the soft clicking seemingly drawing Desmond's attention as the gold flickered repeatedly. It was almost terrifying to watch.

He grunted, shielding his eyes when the golden energy enveloped him, and he could hear Desmond hissing something as he crouched. He felt the water drain away and heard the beast of the sea roar in displeasure, and he could hear the others' shouts.

When the gold faded away, he grunted, catching Desmond as he fell. The mushroom had leapt happily from his shoulder, nestled now in a group of trees, and the blue tree fruit, vanished. Altair startled, looking around as dozens of creatures scampered about. He stepped toward Malik's voice when he heard him calling, watching a small earthen dragon go zipping about from tree to tree, chasing after a dragonfly for lunch. Fairies danced from moss and mushroom patches, disappearing into the plants. A phoenix screeched high above, and a small wild cat prowled the ground. The ground was still as barren as ever, but Desmond, he realized, had summoned all the creatures.

He didn't quite understand how the trees were there until he heard the trees' leaves rustle, and several tree nymphs were emerging. Tree nymphs—how clever, he conceded. He felt Desmond twitch, and he looked down to see those brown eyes, cloudy and unfocused, staring at him, still limp in his grip. Worried, he held the summoner up, pressing his ear to his chest. The heart was still beating. The creatures had started gathering, and he backed up more, eventually running into Malik. It was as if they didn't know that the world had been pretty much wiped out.

"Damnit," Malik hissed, "even after he's dead—"

"He's not dead," Altair hissed.

"He's still summoning those stupid animals! For all our sakes, couldn't he just, I don't know, be normal for once?"

He turned to see the other sorcerers and Knights all gathered around, and he led them through the forest, out to a barren wasteland where the desert had once been. There were desert creatures scurrying over the ash-filled land, but there were no grasses. The occasional cactus could be seen, a spirit sitting on top of it, but no other vegetation lived. Off the side of the cliff, he could see the ocean, as peaceful as ever.

Altair straightened, frowning at the young man in his arms. He spun on his heel and surveyed the others gathered around. He knew the Knights, and he knew a few of the sorcerers by legend, and he nodded.

"What are you thinking, Altair?" Kadar asked, stepping forward.

"It's time to rebuild," he murmured, still holding Desmond close.

Malik called the crowd to quiet, gazing at him expectantly. Altair adjusted himself.

"It's time to rebuild," he announced. "We'll start with searching for other survivors. We'll gather and build here."

Rauf stepped forward. "What about what happened? Desmond? The beast? The dragon? If this is truly the end of the world, why are we not all dead?"

Altair turned his back, gazing out over the destroyed land. It was going to be hard.

"It was the end," Altair said. "The end of the old one. We will build a new world, and work through this as one faction."

There was silence for a minute. He turned at the sound of clanking, to see Malik bent forward slightly in a bow—a sign of respect. Kadar followed suit, and before he knew it, all of the Knights were bent slightly at the waist.

"Of course, master," came an echoing reply.

The sorcerers looked hesitant, but Altair smirked, adjusting Desmond after seeing his chest move. The magic-wielders raised their hands to be level to their hearts, the sign of submitting in the magic realm. Altair's smirk turned into a smile. A young women and a man stepped forward, their hands still in front of their hearts.

"Yes?"

"Our names are Lanz and Faustina, sir—"

"Call me Altair."

"Altair, sir. And we have been blessed with the magic of time. Using speed, we can search for others faster."

Altair nodded. "Good. Then do so. There is no time to waste, and no reason to dally. Let us begin. Stay to the forests. Thank the spirits for food if you take it, and round up any others who may still be living. Bring the injured back here."

Another man stepped forward as the three each cast a spell and disappeared. "My name is Malfatto, sir."

"A sorcerer, yes?"

"The power of healing."

"Excellent. See if you can help Desmond, but do not do too much. You will be needed in these next few weeks, no doubt. He is tough. He will survive even if you cannot do much."

"What will we do?" Malik asked as he set Desmond on the ground for examination.

Altair drew himself up, gazing out over the rest. "The Knight of the Earth will begin to build a compound for the survivors. Do not worry about fencing or animals until the summoner is dead. The sorcerers will be distributed as necessary. And Malik…"

The man looked at him seriously. Altair matched his gaze.

"You will be my second-in-command. You and your brother will respond to me and only me. Is that clear?"

Malik smirked, and Kadar and Rauf bowed slightly. "Of course."

Altair matched his smirk as he set about assigning jobs—and avoiding the animals that scampered over to cuddle with the summoner. He found himself smiling when his mushroom attached to his pantleg, and he scooped it up, staring straight into its beady little eyes with a small smile. He let it climb onto his shoulder, and looked to find that Kadar had one on his head. The mushrooms were pouring from the woods, each one finding itself a person to sit on, and dozens more sitting in groups on the side, waiting. He hoped that the small amount of mushrooms weren't the number of survivors. There couldn't have been more than a thousand all together when they finally stopped coming out of the forest.

Yes, the old world had died, he thought, but the new one would be far grander than anything before.

* * *

><p><strong>Personally, I like this one more because it's much more violent. XD Heaven is much more... T.T BLAH.<br>**

**Um... Thanks to the book of Revelations for helping me? D: I'm lazy. And the book of Revelations is fascinating.  
><strong>


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